God Is My Father
by Faurphen
Summary: AU. It has been more than 20 years since the capture of the Chesapeake Ripper. Abiel is a designer baby born to two fathers he has never met. As a young man who had lived all his life in Lithuania, Abiel's quiet existence took a sharp turn when he receives an email from the United States. For better or for worse, his life is changing. WARNING: Contains violence and substance abuse.
1. Chapter 1

Everything I knew about my family were only the things I have been told. Everything I have been told about my family was said with none of the niceties and sympathy for an abandoned child. Nevertheless, they were all facts that I had no choice but to acknowledge.

The reproductive technology of the 21st century gave birth to me. I was born to two fathers and I am both theirs biologically. In other words, I was a designer baby. I have been purchased mainly through the wealth and connections of my illustrious father who used to be part of Baltimore's social elite before he was imprisoned. Both of my fathers were murderers I never had the misfortune of meeting.

I had a sister too. She was not related to my parents by blood. As a matter of fact, my fathers cared for her after they had caused her to be orphaned. Her name was Abigail, which means _'father's joy'_ in Hebrew, but I heard her biological father brought her little joy. Her own father tried to kill her, but our fathers had saved her, only to be killed by one of our fathers six years before I was born. She was a murderer too.

My fathers have named me Abiel after my deceased sister. After I was born, one of my fathers had tried to care for me for a short while. He was not a particularly stable man himself, and with my other father detained in a mental institution, nurturing a newborn proved a very difficult task. Seeking stability, he returned to his wife and stepson, leaving me under the care of a family friend. I was only 3 months old when I was taken to my father's childhood home—a castle in Lithuania.

My earliest memories were of hollow halls and dark corridors in which dead silence prevailed. This silence would be shattered by gunshots fired by my guardian who was frequently shooting birds and fowl around the castle grounds. Those gunshots would be my signal to go to the kitchen and watch her cook the day's hunt. I used to watch with awe as she let the blood drip from those animals, making sure they were drained to the last drop. What I really enjoyed most was when she would pluck the feathers from the fowls. It is magnificent to behold how a bird's majesty lies solely on its plumes, how its once splendid wings are noting but bizarre protrusions from a dull and ugly body, and no matter how lustrous and colourful the feathers that used to adorn its body, a bird is still prey to whatever overpowers it.

It was no surprise to Chiyoh that such things fascinated me as a child. Aside from being murderers, my parents and my sister have been confined in mental asylums after all. She had expected for me to turn out the same. Though aloof most of the time, Chiyoh has always been protective of me. She made it a point to never speak of my fathers' names. She had me use a different surname when I went to school. To her, I was always Abiel, just Abiel. It made me pay no heed to the name written all over the castle where we lived. Chiyoh would not have me walking around with a name that echoes throughout the world with fear and loathing. If not for my godmother who emailed me all the way from the United States, I would not come to know that I am Abiel Graham-Lecter.

Bedelia Du Maurier was my father's psychiatrist and colleague. She contacted me via email months after I finished high school. I remember the contents of that message verbatim because, though brief, it astonished me to no end.

"Abiel Graham-Lecter," it read.

"For years, I have been looking for you. It never crossed my mind that you might not be using your parents' names. You may not know me at all, but I have a proposition for you. Please reply once you have read this.

"Your godmother,

"Bedelia Du Maurier"

I was about to tell her that she had the wrong person, but there was a certainty to the tone of her message that I cannot ignore. I typed her name in search boxes in the internet and I was met with a string of crimes involving one Dr. Hannibal Lecter with frequent mentions of a Will Graham. I read the articles about them and the more I read, the more I was filled with questions. I knew better than to ask the enigmatic 'godmother' with whom I had just been acquainted.

Dinner was quiet that night with nothing but the sound of clinking silverware to be heard. Though Chiyoh and I were not particularly chatty, this silence was different. Unspoken words screamed in the silence that hung over us that evening and I knew Chiyoh can hear them.

"You did not hunt with me, Abiel." Chiyoh said without looking at me. It was both a question and a reprimand.

"I was busy... _reading._ " I replied, piercing the meat with my fork for the hundredth time.

She looked at the food on my plate that though pierced many times was not reduced a bit, and then she looked at me with blank eyes.

I held her gaze and said, "Who am I?"

Chiyoh sighed, set her fork and knife on the table and stood. She cleared the table of her plate, my plate and all the food she served. When she was done, she left the dining room and returned with a key moments later. "Come with me."

I followed her down to a vault below the castle which was not unknown to me. I have extensively explored the dilapidated estate as a child, but I never had a look beyond the locked doors of this vault.

Chiyoh unlocked the door with the key she brought. Entering, we were assaulted by the stench of rot and decay. Chiyoh handed me a handkerchief to cover my nose and mouth with before we proceeded.

It was dark inside and very cold. Chiyoh pulled a lighter from her pocket and felt through the darkness for what turned out to be candles.

The vault was littered with candle stands that may have stood there for many years. When all the candles were lit, the light revealed something hanging from the ceiling. It was the skeleton of a man attached on which was a pair of what looked like insect wings made of pieces of shattered glass. The bones from the pelvis down have fallen to the floor, but I can picture how it should have looked like. It was a Firefly Man whose corpse was fed to the numerous snails that swarmed the vault and that now lived on his musty bones. It looked like the work of the Chesapeake Ripper which I had just read about, but not quite. The Firefly Man was a message from one individual to another, by whom and for whom I could only guess.

"Who was this?" I asked.

"Your father says this man murdered his sister, your Aunt Mischa, and fed her to him." Chiyoh replied.

"But this is not my father's."

Chiyoh chuckled. "This is your father's. This is Will Graham's work."

"But not his kill." I replied. I wondered how I knew and why I was so certain.

"Indeed." She said. "Will made me kill this man."

"Was it satisfying?" I asked, imagining Will Graham securing the ropes that hung the Firefly Man.

"It was _liberating_." She turned to face me and said as if she had made up her mind, "It is time you know all about them."

"You will not have much to tell." Though my nose and mouth were covered, Chiyoh knew I smiled.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Hi there! Thanks for reading. I have not written any form of fanfiction for more than five years now and this feels like starting from scratch all over again. I hope you understand.

I know I should have added Chiyoh to the characters of this fic, but she's not in the choices. Is she really not in the list or am I the only one experiencing this problem?

Please tell me what you think of this fic. Your thoughts matter a lot to me since, as I've said, this is my first in years.

Review and Review!


	2. Chapter 2

When she took the infant, Will Graham made Chiyoh promise to keep me a secret. Only a handful of people knew about me. Aside from my parents and Chiyoh, the only ones who knew of my birth were Bedelia du Maurier, Jack Crawford, Alana Bloom and her partner, Margot Verger. Fredericka Lounds knew of me when I was already in Lithuania, and was talked into never mentioning me in her articles. Chiyoh thought all those people she left behind in the United States have forgotten me, even my fathers, until I told her about the email I received.

"You have to decide on your own about it." Chiyoh told me, and I knew I had to reply to Dr. Du Maurier one way or another. However, I did not know what to say to my godmother.

As I sat thinking of what I should tell Dr. Du Maurier, my mind went back to the first time I dared to ask Chiyoh about my family. I was eight then, and for years I have wondered if I had parents like the other children at school. Chiyoh had made it clear to me that we were not at all related. Back then, I could only wonder. The time I spent watching Chiyoh hunt and learning from her was made of questions I cannot articulate. What triggered me to ask was when we were hunting ducks at the castle grounds. There was one duck with her ducklings lined up behind her, following her steps. As I aimed the rifle at the mother, Chiyoh gripped my arm to stop me.

"Why?" I asked, irritated. Chiyoh knew I enjoyed pulling the trigger and has seldom stopped me from doing so, but this is an exception.

"She has her young with her." Chiyoh replied as she dragged me away.

"What do I care?!" I spat in irritation.

Chiyoh inhaled sharply. She stopped her tracks and turned to me, gripping my shoulders tight as if she meant to crush them. "Listen," Chiyoh said as she knelt to my level. "I had the chance to shoot your parents, but I did not... because of _you._ "

"Then who are my parents?" I asked, driven by the sudden surge of emotions brought about by Chiyoh's mention of them. "Where are they?"

"You are better off without them." Chiyoh replied, her grip loosening, and I saw a tinge of sorrow and compassion in her eyes.

"Why?" The question came out of me as a whimper. Chiyoh has never looked at me like that, and I knew that whatever had made her do so must have been very grave.

"They had me take care of you because they knew they couldn't. They are both murderers." She scoffed. "Perhaps they thought it would be better if one murderer raised you instead of two insane fathers."

"Fathers?" I asked, knowing that other children normally had a father and a mother.

Chiyoh disregarded my question with a smirk. "You had a sister too. Her name was Abigail. Your father killed her, and she was a murderer too."

I opened my mouth to say something, but I cannot remember what. I was not able to say it because Chiyoh had stood up and let go of me.

"Go back inside." She said, snatching the rifle from my hands.

I obeyed her and walked towards the castle as she walked on further into the shrubbery surrounding Castle Lecter. It was the last time I heard her speak of my family until more than a decade later.


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. Du Maurier,

I had to keep my real surname a secret for reasons I know you would understand. It is flattering that you have gone through lengths to contact me, with a proposition nonetheless.

Abiel

This was the first email I sent her. This also led to a correspondence that somehow had me bidding Chiyoh farewell and catching a flight to Maryland, USA.

Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier offered to financially support my college education if I wished to study in the United States. I agreed without hesitation. When Chiyoh told me that I am part of a family of murderers, I was caught up in the idea of breaking the pattern. I immersed myself in all sorts of crime stories and came to admire those who sided with the law. I formed an interest in forensics, but somehow, I also found myself enamoured with the science of the mind. I did not know of my parents' backgrounds then, and yet the field of psychology had me fixated.

I was nineteen years old when I began studying Forensic Psychology in a university in Maryland. Though I still used the same surname that I used in Lithuania, I was ever wary of my own presence in the same place where my fathers used to live. I wore tinted eyeglasses although my eyes were perfectly fine, I seldom made eye contact with anybody, I grew a beard and never cut my hair, I slouched and rarely lifted up my head to look at people or look around me. To the people who knew me in the university, I was just an inhibited, introverted and withdrawn foreign student. They never saw who I really am. When I am alone in my room, I would face the mirror, return to my normal posture, remove my glasses and smile slightly. Looking at my reflection was a constant reminder that I am the son of Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter. I had the shape of Hannibal Lecter's face, his eyes and his lips, but the colour of my eyes were as blue as Will Graham's and my nose and curly brown hair were undoubtedly his. When she first saw me, Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier remarked that I looked like both my fathers. Whether she meant to alarm me or not, I cannot tell.

I kept thinking of Chiyoh all the time. She was right, maybe I was better off without knowing about my parents. If I had to always hide my identity in the United States, maybe I should have remained in Lithuania. However, Chiyoh had also pointed out that I have my fathers' tenacity. Hiding that I am their child was not synonymous to hating that fact. Accepting my godmother's offer was not entirely due to the prospect of furthering my studies. I had also hoped to meet my parents or even just catch a glimpse of them.

It was on my first Christmas Eve in the United States that I found out I was not ready to face my parents yet. I was staying with my godmother for the holidays that time. We were sitting in her living room, blanketed by a companionable silence. Dr. Du Maurier was reading the numerous greeting cards she received as I was sipping a glass of whiskey.

"Your father never fails to send me greeting cards on holidays." She said, reading one that has the elegant penmanship of Dr. Lecter. When she was done, her fine brows furrowed upon seeing the next card in the bundle. "Hm," she hummed with curiosity. "Here's one for you too."

I was handed a pristine white envelope with 'Abiel Graham-Lecter' written on it in a handwriting that eerily reminded me of the formerly grandiose Castle Lecter. My hands turned cold as ice once I touched that envelope, and I did not immediately find the will to open it. I just sat there nervously holding the first greeting card I received from my father. As I stared at the name written on it, my mind went utterly blank and I felt the color drain from my face. I sat thus for a while, until my godmother spoke.

"Are you alright, Abiel?" She asked.

Sighing, I came back to my senses. I tucked the envelope into the pocket of my jacket and leaned back, casting my eyes at the ceiling. "I will read it when I'm ready," was all I could say although I doubted I could ever be.

Silence prevailed once more in the living room as my godmother returned to her greeting cards. I emptied my glass in one gulp and stood up to pour myself more.

"Here's another one." She said just as I was returning to my seat. "From your other father."

I took the card from her and smirked, but I did not dare to look at it. As quickly as I could, I stuffed the card into my pocket to join the other one. "I won't be surprised if he included a picture of his happy family." I said as I made myself comfortable on my seat.

"Will Graham has been divorced for fourteen years now." My godmother said, nonchalantly scanning the rest of the cards she received.

All I could do was sigh and watch the whiskey form a whirlpool as I twirled the glass in my hand.

We sat there for a long while before she broke the silence. "To normal people, it would seem that your fathers have twisted emotions. But one thing is for sure, Abiel, they did love you."

Hearing this, I turned to her with a gaze of confusion and slight contradiction.

"Will knew better than to have children of his own, but Hannibal somehow convinced him. While they waited for you, Will was still very much against the idea. Hannibal, on the other hand, never even tried to hide his excitement."

I scoffed. A criminally insane couple fathering a child they would not raise anyway was such a hilarious idea.

"You may doubt me, Abiel, but I saw them with you when you were an infant. They were the happiest I have ever seen of them. They tried their best to put up with such an uncanny arrangement, but it just did not work."

"This makes me feel like an experiment—a case study on whether Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham can raise a child without killing it." I said, drinking the whiskey.

Bedelia Du Maurier smiled at me with patience. "They never thought of death whenever they looked at you."


	4. Chapter 4

Abiel,

Happy holidays! I have counted the holidays I did not get to spend with you and also all your birthdays. I know I have missed much of your life, and you must blame me for that. I understand if you do not wish to see me.

There are so many things I want to tell you.

Sincerely,  
Hannibal Lecter

Merry Christmas!

To be honest, I don't know what to say to the son I haven't seen in years. I know you hate me and this must be awkward for you if you haven't burnt this yet.

When I learned that you're in Maryland, I must admit I was thrilled. I wanted to immediately come and see you, but I knew how all these must be difficult for you. It's just as difficult for me.

Chiyoh must have raised you to be a fine young man.

Wishing you all the best,  
Will Graham

I purposely read these messages beside a fire, hoping to burn them as Will Graham anticipated. Somehow, though, I have kept the first letters and greeting cards I received from my parents for years to come.

The next morning, the first thing my godmother told me was, "I took the liberty of sending Will and Hannibal Christmas cards on your behalf."

"Did you also take the liberty to write them messages on my behalf?" I asked.

"No. A couple of generic Christmas cards would do." She replied.

I smirked. "Thank you, godmother."

"Do you hate them, Abiel?" She asked, her face never betraying what kind of answer she was expecting.

I shrugged. "To me they're just people who made my life possible via purchase." I replied as I took a pitcher of water from the fridge. "Maybe I should be thankful towards them."

"Your parents can be very cold." Dr. Du Maurier said as she watched me pour a glass of water. "But you, Abiel, are winter. They are autumn compared to you."

"Autumn gives birth to winter." I remarked and drank the cold water. "But I cannot promise spring." I smiled and gave her a curt nod before proceeding to the front door for my morning walk.

It was a particularly cold winter morning and my boots sank about half an inch into the thin layer of snow that had accumulated on the sidewalk. It was snowing heavily earlier, but it had stopped while I was walking. There were only a handful of people who were out of their homes that morning and none of them was in a greeting mood, much to my relief. There was not a single vehicle to be seen driving through the neighborhood, until a black SUV with tinted windows rushed from the direction where I came from. I paid it no heed and kept walking.

From a distance, I saw the SUV stop a few meters from where I first saw it. The driver stepped out and left a box on the sidewalk without ceremony before he returned to the car and drove on.

Alarmed and curious, I made sure that the vehicle was out of sight before I jogged towards the box. It was taped shut. I took out the pocket knife Chiyoh gave me when I was seven and cut through the tape. What I saw inside made me know that my godmother's statement about my coldness was not entirely true.

Cursing under my breath, I quickly took off my scarf and wrapped it around the German shepherd pup that was whimpering breathlessly in the sealed box. I cradled the tiny animal to my chest to keep it warm. It amazed me how it was still striving to live despite the evident attempt of its master to leave it in the cold to die.

"I'll get you home, I'll get you home." I said in response to the sighs and whimpers it was making.

I rose to my feet, careful to hold the puppy close and ran as fast as I could to my godmother's house.

"You are out of breath, have you been running?" My godmother asked when she heard me enter.

I did not reply and rushed to the living room where I could make the pup warm and cozy. I heard rushed footsteps and soon enough, my godmother stood surveying me from the threshold.

"What happened to you?" She asked, looking distressed.

Still breathing heavily, I rose from where I was making a makeshift cot for the puppy.

"I thought you were shot!" Dr. Du Maurier exclaimed, walking briskly towards me. "What have you got there?"

"I, uh, someone left it to die on the sidewalk four blocks from here." I explained, gesturing towards the little thing huddled on my coat and scarf upon the floor.

Dr. Du Maurier examined the pup before looking at me with a deadpan face. "A _dog_ , Abiel? You brought a dog into my house?"

"Yes, well, it was _dying_." I replied.

She bowed her head and pressed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

"I'll just nurse it back to health, after that I'm getting it out of your hair." I pleaded.

My godmother sighed. "No, Abiel, you are keeping it. It's your responsibility now." She said, withdrawing her hand from her face to reveal a serious expression.

"Really?" I must have smiled without knowing, because she suppressed an immediate smile and sighed again.

"I should have known." My godmother muttered.

"Known what, godmother?" I asked.

"That you collect strays like Will Graham."

When classes resumed, I had talked my roommate into having Tristan stay with us. Tristan was the best Christmas gift I have ever received.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time I was working on my final dissertation a few years later, Tristan has gained company. There was Merry whom I picked up in a fastfood parking lot, Dawn who got her name because she started following me one morning while I was jogging, and Tony. Tony was not really mine, my roommate got him a few weeks after I brought Tristan, and the two dogs immediately became friends. My roommate's family owned a farm. He was used to animals and did not really mind having a lot of dogs.

The title of my dissertation was too long for me to actually remember, but its main focus is on art as an element of crime. My contact with Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham never went past the generic greeting cards I sent them myself on holidays. Though they always wrote to me on holidays and my birthdays, I always refrained from responding. I did this because I believed communication with them was unnecessary. Anyway, I have lived without their presence ever since I can remember. This time, I have made it so that I cannot keep avoiding them anymore. I chose that topic for my dissertation to drive myself into setting up reunions that were long due.

The first person I had to interview for my dissertation was Hannibal Lecter. It was extremely difficult for me to gain permission from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane to conduct a personal interview with him. I was merely a student anyway, and even the most garlanded of scholars have been refused this opportunity. I was denied at least thrice before I decided to schedule an appointment with Dr. Alana Bloom who was still administrator of the hospital.

I walked into her office to find Dr. Bloom examining a document. It was only when I stopped to stand in front of her table that she raised her eyes to look at me, and when she did, the look was of utter disbelief.

"Will?" She asked, her wide eyes examining me.

I ran a hand through my hair. My godmother had me get a haircut the day before to make me look more 'presentable'. It seemed 'presentable' meant 'Will Graham'.

"I'm Abiel Urbonas, Ma'am." I said, "I'm here to interview you for my college dissertation."

Dr. Bloom gathered herself and managed to smile at me curtly. "I'm sorry, you reminded me of a colleague." She said. "Have a seat."

I smiled back. "Do you mind if I record the interview?" I asked.

"No. Go on." Dr. Bloom replied.

I set the recorder and proceeded with the interview.

Once the interview was done and I had stopped the recording, Dr. Bloom leaned forward as if to examine me better. "How old are you, Mr. Urbonas?"

"I turn 23 next month, Ma'am." I replied.

"You have a foreign accent." She pointed out.

"I was born here in the United States, but I grew up in Lithuania." I said as I looked her squarely in the eye. "You see, Dr. Bloom, I cannot even recall seeing my father. Over the past few weeks, I have been asking permission to visit him, but I have been constantly denied."

"Really?" She asked, raising a brow. "Why? Where is your father?"

I drew a deep breath and looked around the room. "He's here." I said. "His name is Hannibal Lecter."

Dr. Bloom stared at me as how she did when she first saw me a while ago. She did not say anything for a few moments as her eyes remained fixed on my face. "You..." she said, barely above a whisper.

I smiled at Dr. Bloom. "I am Abiel Graham-Lecter, Ma'am. Would you allow me to see my father?"

She smirked. "Why don't you say hello to him before you leave?"

The cold that has crept over me when I held the first greeting card from Hannibal Lecter came back the moment Dr. Bloom said that. I felt my heart beat a million times faster and my forehead break into a cold sweat. My hands balled up to fists on my lap without my knowledge. That question has taken me off guard and yet, unconsciously, I nodded.

As Dr. Bloom led me to where my father was detained, I assured myself with the thought that this is something I should have done three years ago.

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
**

Hi! It really makes me happy that you've read this far. Please review and/or follow this story!


	6. Chapter 6

As a child, I have always been the quiet one in school. I never made friends, and it seemed I was invisible even to the bullies. Maybe if I did not constantly get the highest grades in all my classes, not even the teachers would pay me heed. Meanwhile, Chiyoh acted as if that was exactly what she expected of me. I was patient, controlled and I tried to be resilient as much as possible. That kind of attitude has served me well, until the day came when I lost it for a short while.

It was the first time I was physically bullied. I was eating alone during lunchtime when they approached me. They were sixth-graders and my classmates, albeit older and bigger. There were three of them. One of them snatched my lunch. The other grabbed me by the shoulder out of my seat and threw me onto the ground. The third one kicked my stomach as I laid there. It all happened in a flash.

"Not so smart now, huh, Urbonas?" They spat at me as they ran away before I could even retaliate, and I knew better than to retaliate at the time.

I can remember it was a Friday when the bullying happened because there were no classes the next day. Still in a cold rage over what had happened the day before, I woke up with one thought in mind—payback. After breakfast, I went outside the castle grounds having told Chiyoh that I meant to go for a walk. She did not know I went to town. She did not know I sought those bullies out and found them smoking in the woods.

From where I stood hidden behind bushes, I picked up a large rock and threw it on the one who had grabbed me the day before. It hit the back of his head, rendering him unconscious. One of them knelt beside his friend and tried to wake him while the other marched towards where I was hiding. I sneaked my way past him through the trees and went to where his companion knelt with his back towards the rock that hit his other friend. I picked up the rock and smashed his head with it until the grass around us seeped with blood and his heavy breathing has died down. As I was doing so, the other one heard his screams and returned in time to see his friend breathe his last. Enraged, he came at me with a yelp. I still held the rock, and I used it to hit him as he ran towards me. The impact made him trip and fall down. As fast as I could, I knelt, took his unconscious friend's hand, wrapped it around the rock I held and hit the other one with it as I did with their other friend while they were all lying on the ground. I made sure the two of them were not breathing anymore before I stood up to locate the nearby brook.

I took off my gloves and placed them in my pocket to wash my shoes of any trace of blood. With my hands still dripping wet, I went back to where all three of the bullies laid on the ground. I knelt beside the unconscious one and sprinkled water on his face to wake him. When I saw that he was about to open his eyes, I wore an alarmed expression on my face.

"Wake up!" I called at the boy, "Wake up!"

"Urbonas?" He said, upon opening his eyes.

"What are you doing here? What did you do?" I asked, sounding shocked and worried.

He looked at me in confusion.

I bolted up and pointed at the blood-soaked rock he held with his hand. "Y-you killed them! You killed them didn't you?" I shouted.

The boy sat up to look around him and gasped. "I did not—"

"I saw you!" I said. "You were hitting Butkus before you passed out!"

"What? We were just smoking!" He said, standing up.

"Smoking? What were you smoking then?" I said. "It does not matter. I will call the police!"

"No! No please don't!" The boy pleaded. Panic was rising along with his voice.

"Then you better run away before they find out!" I told him. "Run far away! I will not call the police, they will find out anyway."

"Oh crap." He muttered under his breath. He cast his friends and me one last look before turning around and running away.

That boy was fourteen years old then, and I was twelve. The police found the bodies before nightfall, and I had returned to the castle just in time for lunch. Four years later, I have read that the boy who 'survived' has been captured. He committed suicide in jail two weeks later. The photograph of his corpse dressed in a prison jumpsuit and dangling on a rope made it to the front pages of local newspapers. As for me, that incident was the first sign that I cannot run from the urges that may have come with my genes. All of us did some humiliating folly in their adolescence, and I told myself that killing those boys was mine.

I have managed to submerge that incident in my mind with the dullness of my own life. For many years I never dared recall it—until now; until I stood in front of the man who purchased my existence; until I stood in front of my father.

"I will leave you two alone now." Dr. Bloom said.

When I heard the door close behind her, I almost heard myself snap. My psyche is a brittle twig that could break any time. Though I have tried to make it a stronger piece of wood, it was only as pretense. I was never stable. I have tried to convince myself that I am not mentally unstable, but I just made my state of mind more fragile in doing so.

"Hello, Abiel." Hannibal Lecter greeted.

I knew I was breathing heavily. My blood was still running cold throughout my body. I looked at the floor, inhaled deeply, and calmed myself before meeting his gaze. "Hi, father." I replied.

He smiled. "If you call me 'father', how do you intend to call Will?"

"Shall I call you 'tėvas'?" I asked.

"I remember calling my own father the same." He replied. "And yet, I cannot even remember him."

"I was set on not remembering you at all." I felt my hands grow cold as I said so.

My father slightly tilted his head to one side. "What made you remember?"

I opened my hands that have coiled to fists without me noticing. I looked at my palms. They were shaking. "Facts I cannot deny." I replied. "Truths I cannot run away from." I raised my head to look at him again, and I noticed the semblance of a smile lingering on my father's face.

"When Bedelia told me she has offered to sponsor your education, I thought you would reject her. I fancied you accepted not just because you wanted to study here in the US, but also because you wanted to see me—to see us."

I smirked. "Aren't you too full of yourself?" I retorted. "But yes. Of course, I wanted to see you. I wanted to see the people who have bought me for their child but cannot handle the responsibility."

"Abiel, we have tried our best. Especially Will." He said, the edges of his lips tugging into a slight frown.

I scoffed. "But it was not enough."

"I do not deny that." He replied. "We were happy having you in our lives, but not in our world. Just like with Abigail, I was prepared to start a new world with you and Will. Will, on the other hand, was not. He tried to be content with our arrangement though we both knew it was not good for you at all."

"Then why did you get me?" I asked, choking on the bitterness I have suppressed for too long. "Why did you _buy_ me?"

The room grew silent as Hannibal Lecter looked on the floor as if he hoped to find answers lying upon it.

I did not look away from him. I made sure my eyes bore into him, piercing him with all the resentment I had kept bottled up for my entire life. I wanted to burden him with what he pushed away twenty-two years ago. I wanted my own existence to condemn him.

At last, he spoke. "To bind us."

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
**

I'm amazed you made it this far. I'm amazed at myself too. Now why don't you review or follow and let's keep getting amazed together.


	7. Chapter 7

That rather unplanned meeting with my father haunted my mind for the rest of the day. I was at breaking point as I spoke to him. I was at the same state of mind when I decided to kill ten years ago. Yet, it was odd. When I looked into Hannibal Lecter's eyes, I knew he can tell that I was close to raising hell. He looked through the subtle fracture on my façade and saw the monster it was hiding—the one that he had spawned. Despite knowing that, he did not even try to guard himself. It was as if he was prepared to take my attacks without a fight. It felt like he was submitting. I wonder. Could it be that he felt guilty? Have I made the infamous Chesapeake Ripper feel guilty for the crime that is my life? All those thoughts echoed in my mind that night.

Every Friday night since we were freshmen, my roommate would buy beer and we would drink it in our flat. While other students were out partying, the two of us would drink whilst isolated in our respective comfort zones. I first thought it was a senseless routine that I have to put up with, but that night, it helped me nurse the influx of emotions the day has brought me.

I sat sprawled on the couch with Merry on my lap and Dawn curled at my feet. My roommate, Morrie, was already prattling about "humanitarian pigs" which was the favorite topic of his drunken monologues. I would reply with timed "ahh" and "right", but the only ears receptive of his rambling were that of Tristan and Tony who enjoy resting their chins on his thighs.

I watched Morrie talk as he browsed his tablet, though I did not really listen. I have been listening to the same thing for years now. I used to wonder how a psychology major like him was so passionate about pretend philanthropy among the upper class until my mind picked up more relevant thoughts. If I had not lived with him for close to four years now, I would have smashed my beer bottle on his head just to get him to stop. I had nothing against him to do that, though. Morrie was a good-natured lad around three years older than me. He has a ready smile and helping hand for anyone he meets. The only aspect I disliked about him was his impulsiveness and knack for practical jokes, though I was still telling myself I should not hate him for dressing like a 20th century hippie.

"Abiel. Hey, Abiel!" He suddenly exclaimed with excitement.

"Ahh, right." I instinctively replied before I realized he really was trying to get my attention and not just getting me to agree with him. "What?" I asked.

He beckoned for me to go to him and pointed at his tablet. Apparently, none of us can stand up with dogs resting upon us.

I sighed and obliged. I lifted Merry from my lap and set him beside Dawn who was already fast asleep. "What is it?" I asked as I walked towards where he sat by the dining table.

"Is this you?" He asked when I stood behind him.

On his tablet was a picture of a man walking down a pavement. He was wearing a gray vest over a white button-up shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, and black pants that clung to his thighs as he strode, the hems of which were tucked into brown ankle boots. It was exactly what I had been wearing that morning. It took me a few seconds to realize it was indeed a picture of me, walking out of Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

"Where is that posted?" I asked.

"Tattle Crime dot com," Morrie replied. "They're wondering why someone who looks like Will Graham had visited the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane."

I raised a brow. "Do I look _that_ old?"

Morrie sniggered. "With that beard, yes you do."

I absently stroked the beard I have been growing since I entered college. Cutting my hair made me look like Will Graham, but shaving my beard would make me look like Hannibal Lecter.

"But it _is_ you isn't it?" He asked. Morrie seldom lets a question go unanswered.

"Yeah," I replied. "But it why is it such a big deal? I mean, why are they fussing over someone who looks like Will Graham walking out of a hospital?"

"Dude, you're like, the one in forensics here, you should know!" Morrie said. "Anyway, Will Graham has not visited the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane for more than twenty years. It's worth a scoop if he's visiting now."

I scoffed. "The Chesapeake Ripper's case has been closed for more than twenty years now. Why can't they just let go of it?"

Morrie stared at me with eyes as wide as saucers. It was as if I have offended his great ancestors. "Dude, the case of the Chesapeake Ripper is like, not just a serial killer's case. It's a romance! Don't you know they call Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter _'Murder Husbands'_?"

It was Morrie who looked offended, but I was too. Though it was not yet winter, my fingertips caught frost. It was the cold rage creeping again. I closed my eyes and counted to nine, telling myself Morrie must not become another innocent boy that has been murdered. Perhaps, I have no one else to frame this time. It would anguish me to put the blame on the dogs.

"What? You look like Buddha meditating." Morrie said. He has been looking at me as I was trying to calm my wrath.

I smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. "You should get off that website, Morrie."

Morrie furrowed his brows at me, and returned to browse the website of the notorious Freddie Lounds.

I went back to the couch, smirking at myself. It seems someone had just broken a promise she made to my parents.

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
**

Since it's this fanfic's weeksary, I took the liberty of adding another original character. I was reading back on the previous chapters and found that Abiel mentioning his roommate more than once makes me itch to introduce him. So bam! have some Morrie.

I know my notes are getting out of hand. As I said before, please bear with me. I'm not always sober when I write.

But the story should keep you interested, not my notes, so tell me how you find this fic. Leave a review and/or follow!


	8. Chapter 8

Morrie left at half-past eight the next morning, taking Tony with him. He leaves for his parents' house during the weekends, and would come back with groceries for the dogs and the two of us. I tried to refuse him at first, but Morrie was so persistent on sharing with me the supplies he got from his parents. This was because, unbeknownst to his family, Morrie was avoiding red meat, and would only consider eating meat if it was poultry or seafood. It did not surprise me at all, seeing Morrie's preference for tie-dyed shirts, ripped jeans and sandals. He has been growing his hair for a year when I met him, and it falls to his waist now. Looking at him would give anyone the impression that Morrie anticipates the Woodstock Festival.

Morrie's parents would give him a call at least once a day, which does not seem to annoy him like any other grown son would. It seems that he shared a healthy and loving relationship with his family. Oftentimes, it made me wonder how things would be if I grew up with my parents. For some reason, however, my usually vivid imagination would not even conceive such a picture. Maybe this was because I have refrained from thinking of my parents ever since I was a child. I had convinced myself that I was an orphan and was content with that notion until I saw the surname Graham-Lecter attached to my name for the first time.

"I'm taking Tony for grooming." Morrie had said before he left. He was already standing by the door, cradling the Shih Tzu in his arms the time he said so. "Speaking of grooming, Abiel," he began, and I thought he mentioned Tony's grooming just so he can say what he was about to say. "You should shave your beard."

I smirked. "Don't try to be my mother, Morrie, I do not even have one."

"Well, I have two." He said with what looked like a pout. It was the first time he spoke of his parents, but then again, our conversations often occur only when we were under the influence of alcohol. "If they see you, they'll probably tell you that. It used to suit your long curls, but not now that you have cut them short."

I gave him a deadpan look. "I'm seriously hearing this from you now?"

Morrie shrugged. "Just suggesting." He replied. "I better get going before we start a row."

"Yeah, run on, guru." I replied and sipped my coffee.

"See you on Monday." He said before slamming the door shut.

Having been left alone with my dogs, my mind began to drift back to my encounter with Hannibal Lecter. If Dawn's barking did not pull me out of my thoughts, I would not have noticed that I was gritting my teeth intensely, the knuckles wrapped around my knife have grown white as if the bones were about to break out of my skin, and the knife itself has dug four centimeters deep into the surface of the wooden table. I drew a deep breath and calmed myself before standing up to clear the table. Though Morrie's suggestion had somehow irked me, I shaved my beard that same morning.

It was about a quarter past nine when I took my dogs for a walk. I held Dawn's and Merry's leashes in my left hand, and Tristan's in my right. The weather was fine that day, the sun was bright but not too hot and a light breeze was constantly blowing. It was perfect to get my mind off of yesterday's events.

As I was walking them thus, a man who has been walking beside me seemed to take an interest in the dogs.

"Hi there," the man greeted, "Are they all yours?" He asked.

"Yes." I replied curtly. I was not able to look at him as I said so because Tristan began growling at a cat and I had to pull him away.

The man chuckled. "Seems like a handful."

"Quite literally," I said. This time, Merry and Dawn began sniffing at the wheel of a parked car.

"Are you taking them to the park?" The man asked.

"Yes." I replied, but it was more like an exhalation. The man was starting to annoy me as my dogs kept finding things to distract them.

"I'm going there too. I can lend you a hand." He said.

"You sure?" I asked, half prepared to hand him Merry's leash. I did not really mind if he meant to abduct one of my dogs because, though I did not get a proper look at him, I reckoned the man had to be in his late forties to early fifties and that chasing him with a German Shepherd and a Rottweiler would not be difficult.

"Yeah," he said, reaching out with an open palm.

I handed him Merry's leash, and the dog was too busy admiring tree trunks to care.

The man chuckled as he watched Merry prance about. "He's a giddy one, huh," He said. "What's his name?"

"Merry," I replied.

"That's a fitting name." He noted.

I chuckled and we walked on.

We reached the park soon enough, and the man, whose breathing was getting heavy, suggested we find a bench to rest on. "My dogs are not as young as this one." He said. "And I'm not getting any younger myself."

We found a bench and it was only then that we saw each other face to face. We studied each other for a few seconds before I dropped onto the bench, sitting with my eyes staring blankly ahead.

He sat beside me and sighed. "So," he began, "you must be Abiel."

My lips have gone dry, and I licked them before I replied. "And you must be my father." Coldness began to creep unto me again. The park has vanished, the clamor has quieted, the dogs have stopped barking, and in my mind, the world has left me sitting on that bench with Will Graham.

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
**

Apologies for the delayed update.

Yesterday was the day I realized I should not get too comfortable in Abiel's shoes because, after all, we are of the same size. In other words, I needed to take a break from assuming this guy's point of view. It makes me wish I did Morrie's side instead. Dude's more fun, but then again, things are not what they seem.

I hope I'm not creeping you out of reviewing or following this story!


	9. Chapter 9

None of us spoke for a long while. Though the sun was fairly warm, I was cold all over to the point of freezing. I can almost feel myself shiver. I could not even blink because I know if I close my eyes, I might open them again to see blood dripping from my hands, and that blood would not just be any other blood, it would be that of my own father. It was the same feeling as yesterday, but worse. The man who sat beside me on that park bench was the one who _tried_ to take care of me but couldn't, and when he realized that, he gave me away like he would a dog.

"You hate me," Will Graham said, looking at my fists that were trembling with the tension I felt. "No. You _loathe_ me."

I did not reply right away. I first tried to collect what little I can of myself before saying, "Of course."

I heard a sharp intake of breath beside me. "I do not expect to change that now."

"Or ever." I quipped.

"Abiel, I do not even know where to begin—"

"Then don't." I said, knowing he was about to make an apology. "If apologizing to me would make you feel better, then I'm not even letting you start."

"Alright," He said. "I understand."

"You don't." I said. "You will never understand. You say this is difficult for you too. Well this is _more_ difficult for me. All my life the fact that I was born to a couple of murderers haunted me. All my life I tried not to be like you only to find myself wishing to be just that when I meet you."

He did not speak. Merry has climbed unto his lap to rest and I wanted to yank my dog away from him. However, I cannot let myself snap again; I cannot be _violent_ again.

As a matter of fact, I could have snapped again long ago. I could have sought my parents out the next day after I received those Christmas cards and killed them in cold blood. That was what I planned to do the morning I took my walk, but it was thwarted when I saw Tristan. My dogs are the only reminder that I have warmth, that I too am capable of tenderness, or if I am not, they are the ones that fool me into thinking so.

"Abiel, listen to me." Will Graham said barely above a whisper, as if he was too cautious of driving me to my breaking point. "There is only one thing I want you to know, and I want you to accept."

I looked at him the way I looked at Hannibal Lecter the day before. I wanted my very existence to condemn him and I wanted him to know that.

Will Graham's response was not the same, though. He did not avert his eyes nor clamped his mouth shut. He held my gaze, and I knew that he truly wanted me to realize what he was about to say. "I loved you, Abiel." He said. " _We_ loved you. To this day, my fantasies are filled with teaching you how to fish, with frolicking in the river on autumn mornings, with visiting Hannibal and telling him about your day. I have longed for nothing else but to see you smile at me like how you used to when you were small, but that was the same smile that made me realize I cannot be your father and neither can Hannibal. We do not deserve you. We do not deserve your smile and filial love, we knew that, and you did not deserve to be in our chaotic world."

I did not know why I listened to him. I did not know why or how I had calmed down as Will Graham spoke thus. What I felt when I heard my father say all that was all too alien to me.

"But we loved you, Abiel, do know that." He said, his eyes glossed with what seemed like tears he was trying to hold back.

Instead of snapping like how I expected myself to do, I just shook my head. "Do not tell me of things I do not understand." I said, "I know nothing of love."

Will Graham sighed and turned to the spaniel that was resting on his lap. "I do not believe you." He said as he stroked Merry's fur. He smiled a rather warm smile. "Because if you really know nothing of love, I would not have spoken to you a while ago. I would not have seen how fond you were of these dogs, and thought that this is something you and I have in common."

It was my turn to sigh this time. That was true and I cannot deny it. I bent down to pick up Dawn and place her on my lap. "It's funny isn't it?" I said, letting Dawn lick the face of her playmate who was resting on my father's lap. "How you and I recognized each other just by looking, considering I never saw you except for those pictures when you were younger."

He smirked. "I was once shown the photograph of a young Lithuanian man who seemed to be in his 20s," he said. "And he looked just like you."

"Except for the hair, nose and eye colour." I added.

"Yes. Those are mine." He replied. "But even your voice sounds like his."

I smirked. "The Lecter genes are strong, it seems."

"It seems." He repeated. "You went to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane yesterday."He said. "Freddie Lounds spotted you."

"I did. I interviewed Dr. Bloom." I replied.

"Did you get to talk with Hannibal?" He asked.

"Yes." I replied and hoped he would not ask about that encounter any further.

As I expected, he did not stop there. "What did he tell you?"

"Well, he did not tell me what you had just said." I replied.

"He would not." My father said matter-of-factly. "At least not on the first time you saw him."

I nodded as I scratched the back of Tristan's ear.

"You had a beard in that picture in Tattle-Crime, though."

I smirked. "I shaved it off." I replied. "The first time she laid her eyes on me, Dr. Bloom looked like she saw a ghost. She thought I was you."

Will Graham chuckled and looked at me. "Grow a beard or even a stubble and you'll look like me. Shave it off and you look like Hannibal."

I chuckled too. "Makes it more difficult for me to ignore the fact that I am your son."

"You're trying to ignore that fact?" He asked in such a way that sounded more like I should not be ignoring that fact. "I know why you do, but I hope you wouldn't."

"And why, may I ask?"

"Because not accepting that is betraying yourself. I should know." He said. "And from my own experience, the more you run away from a fact like _that_ , the more it will drive you to your breaking point. Do not break, Abiel." That last phrase sounded like a plea.

' _Too late'_ I replied in my mind.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Finally, Abiel has calmed down for once. That is goddamned apt because the tension of his character is taking its toll on me. If you think he's gonna mellow down like butter from here on, then... uhhh, I don't know, keep thinking.

I don't know what happens next either, so just leave a review or follow for the time being.


	10. Chapter 10

I had to consult with my dissertation adviser that Monday. Though she was interested in my topic herself, she had qualms about the people I wish to interview.

"Are you still trying to interview Hannibal Lecter?" She asked after assessing the transcription of my interview with Dr. Bloom.

"Yes, Ma'am." I replied. "I've mentioned it to Dr. Bloom after the interview."

"And she said she would allow you?" She asked, lifting a brow as if she was certain I was lying.

I nodded nevertheless. Before we entered my father's room, Dr. Bloom had told me that, as his family, they would not be as strict with my visits as they were with others, and I just needed my father's agreement to conduct an interview with him. I had asked him about it before I left, to which Hannibal Lecter replied "of course, anything to see you again."

My adviser furrowed her brows. "I don't know what you're playing at Mr. Urbonas, but even I was refused by Hannibal Lecter himself when I asked to interrogate him for a study. I think you should find other resources."

"Who would you suggest, Ma'am?" I asked.

"Jack Crawford." She replied. I wish I did not hear her because that familiar chill immediately crept upon me when I heard his name. "Our department has arranged for him to conduct a lecture on Wednesday. He might have valuable input regarding your study."

"But Ma'am," I reasoned. "I also plan on interviewing Will Graham. The information I may get from him may overlap or be redundant with that from Jack Crawford."

"Will Graham!" She explained, aghast. "Your interviewees are getting more impossible, Urbonas. Graham has avoided _anything_ that has to do with criminal profiling for more than a decade. Nobody in the academe has seen or heard from him for a very long time, and now you wish to interview him."

I pursed my lips to suppress my mirth. If I told her my dog was sitting on Will Graham's lap the other day, my thesis adviser would surely have thrown a fit. "Is there anyone else aside from Jack Crawford whom I can interview, Ma'am?"

"You can search for many others, of course, but they will be more difficult to contact. Meanwhile, you can be in the same room as Jack Crawford on Wednesday and you can personally ask to interview him." My expression and body language should have told her that I really was trying to avoid Jack Crawford, because she had also said, "Talking to a retired FBI agent will not kill you, Urbonas."

I inhaled deeply and nodded. I took my chances to see if a man who just might hate my very existence will not kill me indeed. That Wednesday, I found myself sitting in a lecture hall with Jack Crawford leading the discussion.

Morrie was sitting beside me. He was paying Jack Crawford the utmost attention whilst I could only listen for up to three minutes at a time before my mind slips into nervous thoughts. Whenever Jack Crawford looked our way, I was almost certain he was looking at me. I kept telling myself it was not the case and that my anxiety was getting the better of me. Before I knew it, the lecture was finished and I rushed out of the room.

I leaned against the wall by the room's threshold, determined to just wait for Jack Crawford there. The number of students walking out of the lecture hall increased, and Morrie spotted me soon enough.

"Are you just gonna stand there?" Morrie asked me.

"Yes. I'm waiting for Jack Crawford." I replied.

"Oh. Why didn't you approach him inside the room?"

"They're crowding up around him," I said, shifting my weight from one foot to another. "You know I hate crowds."

Morrie shrugged. "Whatever, man," He said, peering into the room. "He seems pretty engaged at the moment."

"I'll just wait for him."

"Okay," Morrie said. "I gotta go to class now, see you later dude." He patted my shoulder and walked away.

A few minutes after Morrie had left, Jack Crawford walked out of the room. A student was walking beside him, chattering incessantly on the topic of the lecture. I inwardly cursed that student and followed them not too close behind.

I was getting annoyed by the time I followed them to the parking lot. If that student did not leave Jack Crawford alone by then, I would have kicked him out of the way. Fortunately for him, the student bade farewell and trotted away. I mustered the will to talk to Jack Crawford before jogging towards him.

"Mr. Crawford, sir, excuse me!" I called.

Jack Crawford stopped and turned to look at me. "Oh it's you. You've been following us, huh?"

"Yes, sir, I wanted to talk to you." I replied.

"What's your name?" He asked, completely turning around to have a better look at me.

I gulped. He was looking at me with severe scrutiny. "Abiel Urbonas, sir." I replied.

"Urbonas?" He asked. "You must be Baltic, Lithuanian to be exact."

At this, chill rapidly crept from my fingertips and unto my arms. I was certain he was close to pinpointing my identity.

Jack Crawford smirked knowingly. "Or should I say _part_ Lithuanian?"

My breath hitched. I wanted to move and step back, but I could not in fear that my knees will betray me.

"Don't play me for a fool, kid," He said, rage spilling from his eyes. "You look just like _them._ "

I knew that this man who shares an unpleasant history with my parents would react this way upon seeing me, and yet I cannot help but feel afraid. I was not afraid of him, though, I was afraid that I would break, lash out, and eventually slaughter him who angrily likened me to the fathers I had so long denied.

"Of course I know what they named you." Jack Crawford continued. "Hannibal Lecter was so entitled that he gave his son a name that literally says _'God is my father'_ , and Will Graham was so smitten that he believed it befits their child." He said the word 'child' in the same spite with which many would say the word 'demon'.

I barely heard him. My ears echoed with the unearthly sound of my own being cracking beneath the wrath Jack Crawford bore upon me. As if it was not enough for me to hate my own existence, this man had to hate it more. With what little composure I can contain, I finally had the nerve to tell him, "I am not here to discuss the nature of my name with you."

He scoffed. "And what could you ever want from me, Urbonas?" He asked mockingly.

"An interview." I replied, "For my dissertation on art as an element of crime."

"You should be interviewing your fathers."

"I mean to," I said, tucking my hands into my pockets in an attempt to ward off the biting cold of my own rage. "But my adviser insists I get your perspective on this."

"Very well," he replied. Jack Crawford reached into his coat pocket, and it would not have surprised me if he pointed a gun at me afterwards—which he did not. "Call me," He said, handing me a business card. "I should be free next Thursday."

I took the card from him. "Thank you." I said, looking him in the eye.

"But don't you ever dare introduce yourself as someone other than Abiel Graham-Lecter." He said. "After all, you are your fathers' son."

I could only follow him with my gaze as he walked towards his car. Twice in our brief conversation, Jack Crawford had almost driven me to breaking point. Though Will Graham had warned me against running away from the fact that I am their son, a childish impudence still made me deny my own parentage.

As Jack Crawford entered his car, I saw a movement behind another parked car not far away. When I went to investigate, nobody was there, but a mist was still fading on the car's window on which somebody must have been breathing. Someone has been audience to our conversation.


	11. Chapter 11

That evening, an unknown number called me several times. Upon its sixth unanswered call, the number sent me a message. "Is this Abiel Urbonas?"

Thinking that it must be someone I know from the university or a contact for my dissertation, I replied to the affirmative. "Yes. Who is this?" Was exactly what I typed on my phone and sent to that unknown number. Little did I know that the reply it was about to get would be one of the most disturbing messages I have ever received.

"This is Freddie Lounds of Tattle-Crime dot com," was the reply. "I want to talk to you."

I did not reply immediately. Instead, I set my mind upon the interview with Hannibal Lecter scheduled for the next day.

As I had reckoned, my father was more than willing to provide me with all the information he could. He made sure I did not miss out on any aspect of my study and even recommended some related literature which I later found very much useful. For once, I felt that I had a parent who was helping me with homework.

"My adviser would raise a brow or two once I provide her with the transcription." I said after I had turned off the recorder.

"What's so surprising with a father helping his son with schoolwork?" Hannibal Lecter asked, smiling.

I smirked. "The subject is suspiciously cooperative, she'd say."

"Just say you caught me in a good mood." He replied.

I chuckled. We fell silent for a while until I spoke, "Academics aside, how should I call you?" I asked. When I was a boy, I told myself that it would be one of the first things I am going to ask my parents if I ever met them.

The smile that the question has caused on Hannibal Lecter was eerily bright. It was not the smile of the Chesapeake Ripper, it felt like that of a _father_. "Papa." He replied. "Will and I had deliberated on this even before you were born. In the end, we decided that you'll call Will 'Dad' and me..."

"Papa." I repeated. The moment that word escaped my lips, I was filled with inexplicable warmth. It was the same alien feeling I got when I talked to Will Graham.

My father smiled and closed his eyes as if he was savoring the tune of a beautiful musical piece.

The warmth I felt was too alien, too foreign for me to take, that I had wished coldness would overcome me once more. I was more used to the cold. It was a more familiar feeling. I cleared my throat. "I ran into Dad a few days ago," I said.

He merely nodded albeit with what had seemed like sorrow to me.

"And Freddie Lounds contacted me last night." I added.

"About your dissertation?" He asked.

"No," I replied. "I have no idea on whatever it was about, but I may have a clue." Then I proceeded to tell him of my encounter with Jack Crawford in the university parking lot and how I am certain that somebody was listening. "I searched the place," I said. "If I caught whoever was it that had heard us, I could have killed that person right there." The coldness had crept on my fingers once again and I felt oddly comfortable.

"Now, Abiel, you wouldn't want that." My father told me. "At least, not in the parking lot."

"I should find that person." I said in my spite.

"Abiel, you must deal with Freddie first. She's not someone you can just ignore." He said. "I would not be surprised if she's waiting for you outside."

"She saw me last time I visited you, and posted it on her site thinking I'm Dad."

"The fact that she contacted you first before publishing anything about you means she's still trying to honor her word," my father said. "Although she had unwittingly broken it."

"But I don't want to deal with her." I replied.

"Then tell her." He said sternly. "Anyway, we made her promise." He looked at me to say this was a strict reminder.

I nodded in understanding.

Papa was not mistaken. The moment I stepped outside the hospital, I was greeted by a red-haired woman.

"Hi," she said. "Are you Abiel?"

"Yes." I replied.

"How long have you been paying visits to your father?"

Needless to say, I felt the cold again. I was determined to answer her bitingly, but I heaved a deep breath instead. "You saw me the first time I did."

She smirked. "Have you seen your _other_ father?"

I stopped and turned around to look at her. "I was told my parents have made you promise not to mention me in your articles."

"I have already broken that promise, haven't I?" she replied. "If I write about the son of Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter, I'm pretty sure the broken promise would not mind breaking any further."

"Then I want you to promise again," I said. "This time, to me."

Freddie Lounds laughed. "What do you have against me?" She asked. "Your parents were able to make me swear not to talk about you as a bargain. And you—"

"Freddie," It was Will Graham who had come to us from the other side of the street. "Please." He said to her as he put a hand on my shoulder.

She grinned at us. "Well, if it's not a very interesting sight we have here." She said. "Father and son. The resemblance is strong."

"I told you before to leave my son alone." He said. Through the fabric of my shirt, I felt my father's palm grow cold as mine did.

Freddie Lounds shrugged. "Very well," she replied. "Anyway, it's not like you often get to see the _murder family_ together."

My father's grip on my shoulder tightened as he looked at Freddie Lounds with a piercing glare.

As she began to walk away, I called her. "Ms. Lounds, wait!" I said.

She turned to me with half a smile.

"Who told you about me?"

"A contributor," She replied. "A schoolmate of yours." She gave me a curt nod before leaving.

When we were left alone, my father and I continued walking in silence.

"Thanks there, Dad." I said and I partly hoped he did not hear me.

Will Graham stopped and looked at me with wide eyes. "Did you just call me-?"

I smiled. "When I was young, I told myself I would ask my parents what to call them if I ever get to meet them." I said. "And Papa had just answered that question."

My father inhaled greatly and placed a hand over his mouth. He was close to tears. When he exhaled, he removed the hand from his face and smiled at me. "I'm so glad." He said.

Though I smiled back, I still wondered if I should ever be able to forgive my parents.


	12. Chapter 12

Morrie was busy with his own thesis that night, but not too busy to answer my question.

"Hey, would you know if there's someone from the university who's a contributor in Tattle-Crime?" I randomly asked whilst petting Tony.

"Yeah," he replied as he continued typing. "Joey Estrella. He's a Behavioral Science major, I think."

"Oh," I murmured. "I see."

"He's the one who followed Jack Crawford after the lecture, aside from you." Morrie said, still not lifting an eye from his laptop.

I raised a brow at him. "You were following me?"

"Well, duh, you passed by my classroom."

"You were not paying attention in class then." I said as Tony climbed unto my lap.

"Geez," Morrie muttered under his breath. "Is every conversation we make gonna end up with an argument?"

I sighed and gently plucked his dog from my lap. "If that's the case then I'm going to sleep."

"Good night." Morrie said curtly.

"Good luck," I replied. "With whatever it is you're doing." I said before heading to bed. I lulled myself to sleep with musings of Joey's fate.

My adviser called me to meet her the next day. I went armed with the transcription of the interview with Hannibal Lecter. I knew it would surprise her, but the look she gave me when I entered the office made me self-conscious and sent frost to my fingertips.

We exchanged greetings, but even as I walked towards her table, her gaze was peculiarly fixed on me.

"I interviewed Hannibal Lecter yesterday," I said as calm as I could despite my nervousness. "Here's the transcript of the interview, Ma'am." I handed her the papers.

"Place it on the table, Mr. Urbonas," she said. "There is something _pressing_ I want to talk to you about." It took her a moment to say the word 'pressing' and I wondered what the matter was.

I sat on the chair she motioned for me to sit on before my adviser proceeded.

"Dr. Bedelia du Maurier is sponsoring your education, right?" She asked.

"Yes, Ma'am." I replied.

"May I ask how she came to do so?"

"My father used to be her patient." I replied. "She used to know my parents."

"And where are your parents now?"

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Gone, I guess." I answered. "I never met them." I said, looking her in the eye.

"Do you know what their names are?" She asked.

I shook my head. "No, Ma'am."

"Your surname, then...?"

"It's my guardian's." I replied without batting an eyelash.

My adviser nodded to herself and tapped a finger on the table. She seemed to consider something for a few moments. "Okay, I'll review the transcript later, Mr. Urbonas." She said. "You may go."

I thanked her before leaving. I knew what was going on. Estrella could not keep things to himself.

It was a Friday evening, and most of the students were sure to go clubbing or have a few drinks at the nearby bars. Morrie did not seem to contradict when I told him I will be out for the night.

I found Joey Estrella in one of those bars. He was in the company of several others whom I recognized were also students from the university. None of them noticed me enter the bar and sit by myself by a table in the corner. They talked rather boisterously for more than an hour, during which I had emptied four bottles of beer while pretending to focus on my laptop. Joey excused himself from his friends after a while, saying he still had an article to write for 'the site'. After he walked out of the bar, I waited for two more people to cross the threshold before following him.

After I killed those bullies ten years ago, I promised that I would restrain myself. I swore an oath that I will not be a murderer like my fathers, and after that incident, I would not take more lives no matter how the world makes me suffer. Killing, though, is like opening a bag of chips. You take one piece, and then two, and the next thing you know, you will want to eat them all. It does not matter even if you try to fold the bag close and store it away, you will still open it one day to have some more because, after all, you have already opened the bag. Perhaps, I have already broken that promise. It would not matter if I break it further. Those were the things I told myself as I caught up with Joey Estrella that night.

"Good evening," I greeted, walking beside the tipsy Joey.

He groaned in reply. "Who the hell are you?" He asked, looking at me with furrowed brows.

"I'm Abiel."

It took him a while before he stopped his tracks and glared at me. "Why are you following me?"

"I don't know," I replied, shrugging. "You tell me." I said, looking at him squarely.

"I don't know what you're planning to do," Joey said, stepping away from me. "But I know who you are." He said with a threatening tone that did not do much for him.

I grinned and stepped towards him. "Who am I?"

The fright I saw in Joey's eyes was strangely gratifying. "Y-you're the son of the Chesapeake Ripper." He said. Though he tried to conceal it, I knew he was shaking.

I took out my pocket knife and flicked it open as I stepped forward. "Did you tell anyone else about me?"

Joey gulped and stepped back again only to find that he was caught between me and a wire fence. It was almost funny, but I was also disappointed at how much of a coward he was for a supposed 'journalist'.

"Must I repeat myself, Joey?" I asked, placing a hand on the fence with my arm resting on his shoulder. "Did you tell anyone else about me?"

Joey flinched from my arm, but I pressed my knife against his throat. He was shaking and gasping for breath, and yet he could not tear himself away from my gaze to even let out a cry for help. It was very amusing.

"Joey?" I called in a sing-song voice. I saw my own reflection in his dark brown eyes and wondered if a devil ever looked so menacingly happy.

"J-just Freddie a-and your degree program c-coordinator." He replied, sweating profusely. "Please, let me go."

I smirked, and pressed the knife further on his throat. It was about to cut through the flesh, and I was about to actually slash him or stab him, when someone called.

"Oh, it's Abiel! Hey Abiel!" The call was loud, but slurred and slow, and sounded almost too stupidly happy.

I pushed myself away from Joey and sought whoever distracted me from killing someone.

The culprit was not difficult to spot, as Morrie stood a few meters away from us near an alley. He was waving at me with what looked like a cigarette between his fingers.

Enraged, I turned to Joey who was still pressed against the fence. "You are NOT telling anybody else, you hear me?!" I told him.

"Yes! I won't, just please—"

"Go!" I roared at Joey and kicked his side.

Joey almost collapsed, but forced himself to stand and run away as fast as he could.

"You have luck on your side tonight, Estrella!" I called after him as Joey vanished into the night.

Morrie had walked towards me, reeking of what was obviously _not_ tobacco. "Yo, hey dude, fancy meeting you here." He said, his voice slurred and his speech slow.

I covered my nose with my collar. "Morrie, is that cannabis?"

Morrie laughed as if I told him the funniest joke in the world. "Yeah, man, yeah. Cannabis, pfft, such an oldies word."

"Hey, Morrie!" Someone from the alley called him.

I cursed under my breath. "Morrie, tell them you're going home." I said. My rage earlier was replaced by the thought of getting my stoned roommate home as soon as possible.

Morrie was obedient enough to yell, "Nah, dudes, I'm going home!" at whoever was there in the alley.

"Oh, okay!" Was the flippant reply.

"Come, let's go home." I said, snatching the joint from him and throwing it on the pavement.

"Wha—but why?" Morrie's protested weakly as I dragged him away.

"You're going to your parents' tomorrow. You can't go to them high." I replied.

"But why?" He asked again.

"Morrie, if you don't shut up, I'll tell your parents you smoke weed." I said sternly.

After that, Morrie was quiet throughout the walk back to our flat. I was thankful that he was high enough not to realize I did not even know his parents.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I changed the summary to contain warnings. To be honest, I did not foresee that things will take a darker turn when I started writing this.

By the way, you maybe all like 'was pot-smoking necessary?' the answer is yes. You may ask 'why?' then I have to tell you to just keep reading or follow the story.

Please review too!


	13. Chapter 13

Whenever we have exams the following week, Morrie would take the dogs to his parents' place. Aside from allowing us to focus on studying, the dogs can also run free at his family's farm. I have not been there myself though, but my dogs seem quite happy and well-fed when they return after a week. Though none of us had exams after that weekend, Morrie had taken the dogs with him perhaps as recompense for last night. I wish he did not take the dogs, though.

When I woke up that morning, I realized what I had tried to do the night before. The knowledge that someone else knew of me shattered my psyche and sent me on a murderous rage _again_.

That night, I dreamed of what I did ten years ago. I dreamed of beating those two familiar heads to bloody pulps that turned the green grass red. When I was through with them, I looked up to see the third one, wearing a prison jumpsuit and hanging from a tree with his lifeless foot grazing my cheek. I ran to the same brook where I washed the blood off of me. The brook was a dark brown colour. As I bent to look at the water more closely, I saw my reflection—it was the same menacing reflection I saw on Joey Estrella's eyes. Something fell onto the surface of the water and it made a splash that got to my face. That splash woke me up, as it turned out that I was hyperventilating in my sleep and Tristan had woken me by licking my face.

With Morrie and the dogs gone, I was all alone in the apartment. There was not a sound of barking or wagging of tails and the presence of another person. There was nothing to distract me from the darkness in my mind. I was all alone with my thoughts and repressed memories free to haunt me. I knew I could go out and take a walk like I usually do on fine Saturday mornings, but the sunlight that I would usually think warm seemed prying that morning. I locked the door, closed the windows and made sure that not even a ray of sunlight or anything else can get in or out of the place. I was certain that if I had stepped outside that day, my feet would bring me to Joey Estrella and my hands would kill him, and I would prove once and for all that I am my parents.

I had worked so hard to fulfil my dream of becoming a part of law enforcement—to break the pattern that my family had set. If I were to kill _again_ this time, I would be taking a step further away from that goal of mine. People would know of me. People would know that I am the son of the Chesapeake Ripper. The world will speak my name with fear and loathing. I could imagine Chiyoh's reaction if she were to find out what I did. She would look at me with the same stoic glare that says I did what was expected of me. All my life, I had avoided that glare of hers. All my life, I had tried not to be my fathers' son.

"Do not break, Abiel," Will Graham said, as he sat on the couch, looking at me with blank eyes.

"To hell with you!" I screamed, throwing my coffee mug at the couch from where I sat by the dining table. "You don't know anything of what I had to go through because of _you!_ "

The ceramic crashed against the wall, coffee had spilled all over the furniture, but Will Graham was nowhere to be found. I sighed and pressed a palm on my forehead, but I flinched at how cold my hand was. I was losing it _again._

I stood to clean up the mess I made. It was absurdly difficult to do with my hands shaking uncontrollably. My rage still possessed me. I made sure that I had left no trace whatsoever of my outburst before getting my phone and calling my godmother.

"Abiel," Dr. Du Maurier said upon answering. "I was just about to call you."

"I..." I began, but I heard my voice shake and I had to swallow to calm myself. "I'm breaking."

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
**

Hi! It really flatters me that you've read up to this point, considering how inconsistent Abiel is. Yeah I know how inconsistent he is, I'm doing this deliberately. Sometimes I think, if Abiel and I go to the same university, and I know him personally- say we were classmates on a subject or something-I would surely hate the guy. Honestly, I'd be better friends with Morrie.

That aside, I really hope you're enjoying the story. We're getting _there_ sooner than I expected, so leave a review and/or follow!


	14. Chapter 14

Dr. Du Maurier told me to go to her so she can help me, and I soon found myself sitting opposite my godmother that same morning. It was a therapy session. She had me tell her everything that burdened me, and I was more than willing to do so. I told her about my childhood that was just as cold and hollow as the castle in which it was spent. I told her about that incident ten years ago, which I had successfully repressed until I met Papa. I told her about the creeping chill that signals my rage and loss of control. I told her about that inexplicable warmth I had felt around my fathers, and my conversations with them. I told her of the wrathful urges I had always fought so hard.

My godmother listened patiently, her face never betraying her thoughts. "Will Graham is right," she said after some consideration. "By denying your parentage, you are also betraying yourself."

"It is not easy coming to terms with the murder running through my veins." I replied.

"But you should," she said. "That is, if you really want to 'break the pattern' as you have said."

I smirked. "You're saying I should come to terms with whatever it is I'm breaking."

"Exactly." She inhaled deeply. "What you are trying to break, Abiel, is not just a pattern, but also your roots—the very core of your being."

I scowled. " _They_ are not the 'core of my being'."

"Your parents are your parents, Abiel, no matter how much you dislike that fact. Even if the poles reverse, you can never change that."

"But they are not who I am!" I reasoned.

"They are _part_ of who you are, Abiel."

I pursed my lips and thought. My godmother was right and maybe I was even close to accepting them as part of me. With every moment I spent with my parents, I was slowly and unconsciously acknowledging what I had refused to acknowledge before. "But," I said. "I had felt myself breaking since I first came in contact with them."

"Maybe 'breaking' is not the correct word for it," my godmother replied. "You were just feeling something alien to you. 'Overwhelmed' would be fitting perhaps."

"No," I said. "There's a positive connotation to the word 'overwhelmed' and there is certainly no positivity when I held those Christmas cards from the people I've loathed all my life."

"Why did you loathe them in the first place?" She asked.

I was not able to answer right away. Wave after wave of numerous answers crashed into my mind. I had so many reasons to loathe my parents. My godmother asking thus ignited a spark of doubt in me. _'Why does she have to ask?'_ I thought, _'when I had made it clear. Even my fathers were certain that I hated them and they knew why. Why does she have to ask?'_

Just as I was about to question her method, my godmother's mobile phone rang with what I knew was her alarm tone.

"Abiel, I'm so sorry. There is an important engagement that I have to attend to now." My godmother said as she stood up.

"I understand," was all I could say as I stood too.

She drove me to the apartment I shared with Morrie and sped away as soon as she dropped me off. Just as I was about to enter the building, a hand clamped itself upon my shoulder.

"Dad!" I said, with a start.

"I did not mean to startle you." Will Graham said with a grin as he tucked his hands into his pockets.

That was when I realized he always shows up randomly. "Have you always been following me?" I asked.

"Not necessarily 'follow'," he replied. "I've been keeping an eye on you since Freddie posted your picture in Tattle Crime dot com."

I nodded in acknowledgement. "I appreciate that."

"Have you had lunch?" He asked.

I shook my head.

"Come, let's grab some lunch. My treat." He said and we went to a nearby diner.

The odd warmth was present as I sat in the diner, facing my father and nibbling on a sandwich. I might go as far as to say I felt _glad_ to share that moment with him, just like when I interviewed Papa. It felt like I was experiencing for the first time what I should have had if I remained with my parents. That was also the first instance I actually embraced that warmth instead of wishing for the cold.

"I thought you'd walk the dogs today." My father said as we ate together.

"My roommate took them to his parents' for the week." I replied.

He nodded. "By the way, where did you go earlier?"

"Oh," I said, "I went to Dr. Du Maurier's."

"Why?" My father asked, his brows furrowing with suspicion.

I titled my head, confused as to why he was suspicious. "I was not feeling well," I replied.

He looked at me for a few moments before asking, "In what way?"

I drew a deep breath before answering him. "I felt like breaking, Dad."

"And you told her that you felt that way?" He said in a manner that suggests I should not have done so.

"Of course," I replied, my temper rising without my notice. "She was more of a parent to me during the past four years than you ever were." I added with spite.

Will Graham sighed and sipped his coffee. He looked outside the diner's window, buried in deep thought for a long while. "Son," he began, and the way he called me brought the chill back to my fingertips. "If you saw a wounded bird lying on the sidewalk, what would you do?"

"I would sympathize with it." I replied. "And I will hold a lengthy deliberation with myself on whether I should nurse it back to health or kill it in mercy. But the ultimate answer is that I would identify myself as that bird."

My father smiled patiently at me. "I don't know if I phrased the question the way she did but, your godmother asked me the same question around 25 years ago."

"Really?" I asked rather sarcastically. "What did you answer?"

"Almost the same as yours." He replied. "But Bedelia," my father locked his gaze with mine "your godmother said she would crush that bird."

I was breathless for a moment. I never realized what my godmother was doing up to that point. From the very beginning, she was set on breaking me. She offered to sponsor my education if and only if I was to study in the United States. When I arrived, she informed my parents so that they can get in touch with me, knowing how I would feel if they do. Before I told her I was breaking, she had known that I held a grudge towards my parents and never even tried to quell it. That is until I directly told her of how it was affecting me and urged me to calm that grudge by acknowledging them. It would also probably explain why she had insisted that I get a haircut, knowing how much I would resemble Dad, and how people would surely notice. She had created dissonance within me. She had been trying to break me. _This was her design._

As I sat with that realization, my father had crouched over the table with his hands buried in his hair. "I should have realized what she was doing." He muttered. "I should have realized sooner."

I took off my glasses and pressed my wrists upon my eyes. Sighing, I took my father's hand and squeezed it. "Dad, it's okay." I said. "Now we know."

"Abiel," my father said weakly as he lifted his head to look at me.

"I have to go now." I said and stood up.

"No," he sat up straight. "Abiel, don't."

I smiled and shook my head. "You can't talk me out of this, Dad."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

LOL PLOT TWIST! Man, that's so gratifying to say.

More may come as we get closer to the climax. For now, leave a review, fav, or follow!


	15. Chapter 15

I reckoned my godmother would not be home for at least three hours. Which meant that I could bide my time polishing and preparing for what I was planning to do. I pictured different scenarios in my mind as I walked back to our apartment, but in the end, I would make it look like suicide. There was a hook on the ceiling of her living room; it can be used as a pulley for a rope with one end tied into a noose. I have a spare key to her house and I will wait for her inside. I will catch her off guard and wound the rope around her neck, and then I would pull at the other end of the rope to hang her. I will tie the rope elsewhere then, and take a chair from the dining room to place below her in such a way that it will look as if she kicked that chair as she hung from the ceiling. I know I lack my parents' creativity in this department, but it was better than risking being caught.

It took me a while to fit the key into the door of our apartment. My hands were shaking with both excitement and fury. It turns out, however, that I did not have to use the key. The door was unlocked anyway.

I opened the door cautiously. I was certain that I had locked it before leaving. I took out my pocket knife just in case there was a malevolent intruder and entered slowly.

"Oh, hey man!" Morrie greeted me from where he sat typing away on his laptop at the dining table.

"Morrie!" I gasped, bewildered. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Morrie shrugged. "I gotta do my dissertation, man. My adviser's been pestering me about it." He replied.

I huffed and walked towards my room. Morrie followed me with his gaze.

"Abiel," He said in a stern way that was uncharacteristic of him. "You're shaking."

"I'm fine." I replied, irritated.

"No you're not!" Morrie stood up and grabbed my arm to make me look at him directly. He looked into my eyes boldly, and I felt my blood run cold not with rage but with fear that he would see through me.

"Leave me be!" I yelled, snatching my arm from his grasp.

"No!" Morrie was persistent. He caught my wrist this time and squeezed it.

"Morrie!" I said in exasperation.

"You look like you're planning to do something you will absolutely regret." He said in a low and serious tone that I never heard him use before.

"What is it to you then?!" I asked as I tried to pry my hand from his grip. Morrie was stronger than me, though, and he gripped my wrist with uncanny determination.

"I'm not letting you do something that would harm you." He said in that same voice that was unsettling for me to hear.

"And why? What is it to you?" I asked, infuriated.

"Talk to me, Abiel." He said in a commanding way. "I want to help."

"The last person to tell me that she wished to help me is also the same person who broke me." I said through gritted teeth. "What makes you think I could trust you?"

Morrie loosened his grip on my wrist and I quickly withdrew my hand from him. "I have no intention to break you," he said as he took a cigarette from his pocket and tucked it between his lips. "I just really want to help."

"Why do you _always_ want to help?" I asked. He bought Tony so Tristan would not be lonely; he brings the dogs to his family so we can both study before exams; he brings home groceries for the two of us and the dogs, insisting that he wants nothing in return. I never had the nerve to ask him why because I had always believed it was just his nature to do so. Seeing him in an indomitable mood, though, and hearing him speak in a different manner made me realize it was all just a farce. Morrie was not whom I initially thought him to be.

He pulled his lighter out of his pocket and lit the cigarette. "There are wrong deeds that I want to undo." He replied.

I watched him for a few seconds. At first I thought it was about the time in sophomore year when he unwittingly used my toothbrush to clean Tony's collar, or that one time he deliberately hid my shoe under his mattress just for the heck of it. I thought he was referring to all the little pranks he played on me and on others, but examining him this time was like seeing a clown without the costume and makeup. I saw the burden and bitterness behind the painted grin he always wore.

"Here," Morrie took the cigarette from his mouth and handed it to me. "Try to calm down for once." He said with a smile. "You're always agitated."

I took the cigarette and smoked it. I was too caught up in my emotions and realizations to actually notice that it was marijuana.

* * *

 **Author's Note** **:**

I told you it would be more fun to do Morrie's POV. There will be more proof of this in the upcoming chapters.

Leave a review, fav or follow especially if you think Morrie is da ultimate bro.


	16. Chapter 16

The joint was Morrie's way of prying my real life story out of me. It was not very strong, though, as I did not immediately feel its effects, and all it initially did was calm my nerves. We sat together in our apartment, passing the joint to and fro as he made me talk about myself. I had told him I am Abiel Graham-Lecter, and that Bedelia Du Maurier, my godmother, brought me to the United States in the pretense of providing for my education when she really meant to break me. Morrie, who had read all about my parents, was very receptive of all I said.

"Everyone around Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter shares an unpleasant history with them." Morrie had pointed out. "They probably knew people would seek revenge on them through you and that is why they sent you out of their world."

"It figures," I had replied.

"But Abiel, think about it. Dr. Du Maurier has been a parent to you all these years. It could also damage you if you do kill her." Morrie said pensively.

I wrapped my head around the thought. It was easy to do so with the help of the pot. "I guess so," was all I could say.

Drowse took over me after that, and I had complained to Morrie about it.

To which, he replied, "It's okay, take a nap for now." He said, he took the blanket from my room and spread it over me as I lay on the couch. "Things will be better when you wake up."

Aside from the weed taking effect, I was also too emotionally and mentally exhausted to do otherwise. Before closing my eyes, I watched Morrie take out his phone and dial a number.

"Hello," He said, pressing the mobile phone to his ear. "Mom, would you know..." His voice drifted off as I closed my eyes.

I woke up more than an hour later. The apartment was empty save for the lingering smell of cannabis. Morrie had gone, but his laptop and papers were still on the table, hence I was certain he would be back shortly. I sat there for a while, thinking of the things that had happened that morning.

The fractures on my façade have drastically increased in one single day, and pieces of it have fallen off to reveal what I had kept from breaking out. Yet I was kept from totally crumbling down by human company which is something that I do not usually savor. Morrie had helped, as always, and I knew I had to thank him for making me talk things out.

I waited for him to show up, but thirty minutes had passed and Morrie had not yet returned. I tried to think of where he could have gone. If he went out to get something, he should be back by now considering that there was a convenience store was right below our flat. I began to worry. I ransacked my mind of any clue as to where Morrie went. Suddenly, I remembered the call he made.

"Hello," I remembered him say. "Mom, would you know Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier's address?" Pause. "Um, for my dissertation." Footsteps and scribbling on paper. "Got it. Thanks, Mom, you're the best." Pause. "Bye, Mom, I love you."

That was Morrie's end of the phone conversation with his mom. I was half asleep while I was hearing that. I partly wondered how his mother would know, but I decided to take action and go to my godmother's house in case Morrie had indeed gone there.

I rushed out of the flat and onto the street. There was not a cab to be seen. I was getting impatient from waiting and did what first came to mind. For the first time in my life, I dialed my father's mobile number and called it.

"Hello," Will Graham's voice said upon answering.

"Dad," I replied. "Dad, I need your help."

"Abiel?" He asked with surprise in his tone. "What can I do for you?"

"Do you have a car with you?" I asked hurriedly.

"Yeah."

"Good. Please pick me up in front of our apartment building. I'll explain on the way."

He hung up. A few minutes later, a car had pulled up to where I stood. The driver rolled down his window to reveal Will Graham himself. "Get in."

I rushed to the passenger seat. My bum had barely touched the seat when he handed me a pair of glasses.

"You left this in the diner." My father said.

I looked at the pair of tinted glasses for a few seconds and thought of how I have been using it to hide myself. "Nah, I don't really need them," I replied. They were no use in the first place.

Dad smirked and placed the glasses on the dashboard. "So what's going on?" He asked as he began to drive away.

"It's my roommate." I replied. "He sat me down and talked to me when I arrived from the diner. I told him _everything_ and I fell asleep afterwards. When I woke up, he was gone, and I think he went to Dr. Du Maurier's house."

My father sighed. "And who's this boy that you dragged into all of these?" He asked in a chastising tone.

"Morrie," I replied. "We've been roommates since we were freshmen. He's really kind but a little radical. We go to the same campus too, and he's majoring in Psychology. Aside from that, I must admit I know little of him."

Dad furrowed his brows. "Are you talking about the boy named Morrie with long black hair, who's almost always smiling and who looks like a hippie?" He asked.

"Yes!" I said excitedly. "How do you know him?"

My father shook his head. "He interviewed me for his dissertation last week."

"What?!" I exclaimed in disbelief. "How come?" Was all I could say amidst my confusion, having heard from my adviser that my father has been avoiding contact with anybody who wants him as part of their study.

He exhaled sharply. "Abiel, do you even know Morrie's full name?"

I felt my heart sink into my gut. I was too embarrassed that I did not even know my roommate's full name especially after his attempt to help me. "No." I replied weakly.

"His name is Mordred Verger, Abiel." My father replied. "Biological son of Mason Verger and Alana Bloom, though Alana and Margot raised him as their own."

I gaped at my father for a long while, waiting for him to say that he was just joking—but he did not. I pressed my head against the car window, and blankly watched the view run past us outside. For years, I have been living with someone whose history was tied with my own and I did not even realize it. I have been wallowing in my own self-pity all this time that I had failed to take in the bigger picture.

"Morrie seems like a good lad, but I think he's pushing himself to deviate from his father's image." Dad said, noticing my silence.

"There are wrong deeds that I want to undo." I recalled Morrie saying. Those deeds were not his own, it seems, but his father's. He must have been running away from Mason Verger's shadow all his life.

We were the same after all, but Morrie was succeeding where I was failing.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I re-read this story from the start and spotted several inconsistencies concerning my usage of the English language. I am using MS Word for my drafts, and the language setting I use there is my country's English. Most of the time, I edit them once I've uploaded them here ('-ou-'s to '-o-'s for example, as in from 'savour' to 'savor'), but I tend to overlook some of these discrepancies. However, I do not mean to edit those now, as that would surely be a tedious business. Please do understand why this is so as English is already my third language.

To the guest reviewer, Guren, I can totally see how you were suspicious of Morrie.

PS: LOL ANOTHER PLOT TWIST!

PPS: The climax is just around the corner, so leave a review/fav/follow!


	17. Chapter 17

It must have been the marijuana taking effect as we drove on. I had spent the entire trip with my head lazily pressed against the window and my eyes nonchalantly cast outside. I saw people walk by, drive by, run by and disappear. I fancied I knew those people too. I fancied I saw Chiyoh, standing by the sidewalk while we stopped in front of a red light. She was looking at me as if to question all the choices I have made in my life. Riding a motorcycle was one of the kids I killed. When he took off his helmet, chunks of his skull fell off to let his brains pour out freely. I chuckled at that vision. There was also a man wearing a jumpsuit and working on a building's window maybe three of four storeys up. When he turned to look at the street, he was hanging from a rope, his feet dangling in the air. I laughed at him.

My father noticed my reactions towards these phantasms. "Abiel?" he called, worry evident in his voice.

I could only mumble incoherently in reply. Drowse took over me once more and I dozed off.

I was shaken awake later, and I looked around to find that we were a block away from my godmother's residence.

"We'll walk to her house," Will Graham told me.

I nodded and got out of the car.

Tension was rising inside me as we walked. I was worried about Morrie. I wondered what he was thinking in doing this, and what he intended to do upon visiting my godmother.

Another car has pulled up behind us. I heard a car door open and close.

My father placed a hand on my shoulder to keep me walking as I heard footsteps hurrying towards us.

"Will, is that you?" A woman's voice asked.

We both stopped and turned to see a lady about my father's age approaching us.

"Margot?" My father asked. "What are you doing here?"

"My son," she replied. "He called Alana a while ago asking for Dr. Du Maurier's address, it bothered her so she told me about it. I went to his apartment to check, but nobody's there. I thought he might be here."

My father and I exchanged looks. I can hear the gears in our heads buzzing to formulate a reply for Margot Verger.

Margot Verger looked at me, and then to my father inquisitively. "Who's with you?" She asked.

"My son," Dad replied.

"I'm Morrie's roommate." I replied at the same time my father spoke.

She gaped at us for a second before closing her eyes and shaking her head. "Let's go." She said sternly and the three of us walked on.

In a way, it relieved me that none of us spoke more as we walked, but it also left me a prey to my anxiety. I would not know what to do when we get there. All I knew is that I will be internally screaming at myself about how this is all my fault. I could only blame myself for the time being and not know how to deal with what I have done.

I ran ahead of my father and Margot Verger when we were nearing the house. I peeked at the living room's window and saw my godmother sitting there with Morrie in front of her. He was sitting rigidly, with fists clenched on his lap and a scowl on his face. My godmother was speaking, but I cannot hear her nor make out the words she was mouthing. I just saw Morrie mouth the word "why" in a manner that seems like he was barely controlling his rage. I resolved to just enter my godmother's residence and listen to their conversation before deciding on the action I must take.

Margot Verger was standing in front of the house with my father. They were both watching me intently as I observed from the window.

I walked up to them and said, "I'm coming in."

Dad nodded. "Okay, we'll wait here." He pulled out something from his jacket and handed it to me. "Try not to use it," he said.

My father handed me a gun. It was my first time holding a handgun after five years of not brandishing the rifle. I raised a brow at my father.

"Just in case," he told me.

I smirked. "You know what I _will_ do with this." I said.

My father heaved a deep breath. "I trust that you won't do it." He replied, looking at me sternly. "What's happening in there is yours to deal with, and I know you will not let me interfere either. But as your father, I still want to protect you one way or another." He gestured towards the gun I held.

I gave him a curt nod and tucked the gun into the waistband of my pants before heading to the door.

I did not bother to alert my godmother and Morrie of my arrival and entered as noiselessly as I could.

"...not expect you to understand how much I resent his fathers." I heard Dr. Du Maurier's voice say from the living room.

"But Abiel is _not_ his fathers!" Morrie exclaimed.

"Are you sure?" My godmother asked.

I clamped a hand over my mouth to silence an outburst. I felt cold all over again and my hands were close to trembling. I leaned against the wall that hid me from the living room. That very moment, I did not know who was speaking true. Was it Morrie who claims that I am not who my parents are? Or was it my godmother who was certain that I am the same as they are?

"I'm sure," Morrie said, the solidity of his voice comparable to a rock that could withstand the seasons in their harshest and still remain intact.

"What makes you so sure?" I heard my godmother ask. "You're just his friend an—"

"I'm not even his friend." Morrie interrupted her. "I don't think Abiel even remotely considers me his friend. He does not even know who I really am, but I know what he's going through. All my life, I was made to realize how demented my father was, and all my life I have tried not to turn out like him. I'm lucky I have my mother and aunt, but Abiel has no one. He thought he had you, and now it turns out you're just crushing him because he was born to people you hate—because you know how much they love him."

"And I'm trying to make him realize that his parents love him, Mr. Verger." My godmother had replied.

"No. That is certainly _not_ what you are doing, Dr. Du Maurier." Morrie said sternly. "You are coaxing him into thinking that turning out like his parents is absolutely natural and that he should just embrace that fact. But you know that is the exact opposite of the script Abiel is trying to write for himself. You are furthering the conflict that already burdens him so much."

I heard someone sigh and it must have been my godmother. "Isn't he like a little wounded bird?" My godmother asked.

I shut my eyes tightly to ward off the sound of my rage erupting. My hand grazed the gun Dad handed me earlier. I wanted to pull it out, but Morrie spoke.

"That needs to be cared for." Morrie had answered my godmother's question.

"I would not do that, if I were you." My godmother said. "He's already crumbling by himself. I would take pleasure in crushing him."

"I will _not_ allow that to happen!" Morrie shouted.

That was when I decided to let my presence known. I entered the living room, clothed in the coldness of my own wrath.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

"...the script Abiel is trying to write for himself."

This quote of Morrie's is backed by Dr. Eric Berne's concept of _life scripts_ from his book _The Games People Play_ , which are basically the ultimate but unconscious goal of a person. For those interested in the field of Psychology and haven't heard/read about it yet, I suggest you look it up. Its main idea makes an interesting theory on personality. In Morrie's and Abiel's case though, the life scripts they are trying to follow are ones they wrote consciously for themselves.

Once Abiel enters that goddamned living room, we're already in the climax, so review/fav/follow to know what happens next!


	18. Chapter 18

Morrie was standing up when I entered the living room. He was glaring at Bedelia Du Maurier who remained in her seat.

Morrie was the one to see me first. "Abiel," He seemed to breathe out my name rather than actually articulate it.

My godmother turned to look at me. "We were just talking about you." She said with a knowing smile.

"I know," I replied. "I have been listening." I stopped and stood at least a meter and a half away from the back of Dr. Du Maurier's chair.

"Is that so?" My godmother asked, rising from her seat.

I pulled the gun out and cocked it, then aimed it at the back of my godmother's head as she stood up.

Seeing me do so, Morrie gave me a pleading look and shook his head. "Abiel, don't do this please."

"You should listen to your roommate, Abiel." My godmother said without even turning her head. "The sound of the gunshot you are about to fire will also be the sound of yourself shattering to pieces."

"I don't care." I said. "I broke once, long ago. I killed two people in the process, killing you would not make any difference." At that moment, I had convinced myself that this would justify my actions.

"Abiel," she said in a voice that echoed with mocking fondness. "You are very much like Hannibal."

Her words drove me into a bout of madness. Fury has rendered my vision black. My hands that were cold as ice have moved on their own. I pulled the trigger. I heard the gunshot reverberate throughout the room. Surprisingly though, I also felt warmth. It circled around my wrist and pulled me down. When I came to, I was kneeling. There was a mark on the floor in front of me where the bullet I fired had gone. Morrie was holding my wrist, kneeling beside me and wrestling the gun from my grip.

"Don't break," Morrie told me as we struggled for the gun. "Not now. You have been piecing yourself together. Wouldn't that just go to waste? Abiel, listen to me." He was able to snatch the gun from me and then place it on the floor.

This made my wrath direct itself to him. "How dare you..." I told Morrie between gritted teeth, my voice shaking with rage along with my entire body. He _always_ interferes ever since he arrived in my life. He always keeps me from breaking in very unwelcome ways.

He clasped my face in one hand, and forced me to look directly into his eyes that were so blue and looked at me so piercingly I felt electrocuted. "Whether you like it or not, I am not allowing you to break, you hear me? Not now, not ever."

As Morrie spoke, the front door had burst open and footsteps rushed into the living room.

I managed to shake Morrie off of me and stand up.

"There you are, Will Graham." My godmother said. When I looked at her, she was pointing a gun at me as she smiled at my father who stood by the living room's threshold.

I was frozen on the spot, not knowing what to say or do.

"Abiel," Dad called, panic apparent on his face.

"Morrie!" Margot Verger exclaimed upon seeing her son. She was about to run to him, but she stopped when she saw the gun pointed at me.

"Mr. Verger, go to your aunt and leave." My godmother commanded, looking at Morrie. "This is none of your business."

Morrie stood up. "No." He turned to Margot Verger. "Ma, I'm not leaving Abiel."

"Morrie, just leave." I told him with what little calmness I could muster.

"No." He said sternly. It seems he has picked up the gun I fired moments ago and was now aiming it at my godmother with shaking hands. "I'm not letting you harm him further."

"Very well," My godmother said flatly. "We all know you cannot shoot me or anyone for that matter."

Morrie knew that, I was certain, and yet he tried to be firm as he nervously pointed the gun at Dr. Du Maurier. His Ma can only look at him with worry.

Turning to my father once more, Dr. Du Maurier spoke. "How does it feel to be helpless whenever you watch your children face death?"

"Bedelia," my father said. "My son has got nothing to do with what you have against Hannibal and me."

"But he is Hannibal _and_ you, Will." She replied as if she was stating a fact that can never be questioned. "He is the ultimate fulfillment of your dark, dark marriage with Hannibal, and the embodiment of both of your monstrosities. He is the cord that binds you." The way she said so reminded me of Jack Crawford and how he spoke of me with such ire that made it sound like he spoke of the devil's spawn.

I sighed in resignation to what Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier said about me. It was all I am to the world, anyway, and that is the truth. No matter how much I tell myself that I am more than that, that truth finds vile ways to insist itself on me—to force me to just accept and embrace it.

She fired a shot, and my left chest stung. It was immediately followed by another and I fell to the floor, my abdomen bleeding. I placed a hand over the wounds and how they burnt like tongues of hellfire licking me. I thought of all those animals I shot hunting when I was younger. In the end, I was to be just like them.

As my vision began to falter, I heard another pair of gunshots and a woman scream out "Mordred!" Morrie has shot my godmother twice. A bullet for each that had pierced me.

Long strands of pitch-black hair fell upon my face as Morrie lifted my head onto his arm.

"Damn it. You're losing a lot of blood." He said, his face contorted with dread. "Abiel," Morrie called. "Abiel, hang in there dude."

I chuckled weakly. "Dude, why'd you do that?"

Morrie's eyes began to fill with tears. "Abiel, you won't have to break now." He said. "You won't have to break now, so please hang in there. Your dad's here, I'm sure Dr. Lecter still wants to see you again. Your parents love you, Abiel. There are people who love you."

"Seems so," I struggled to say despite the agonizing pain and dizziness that were consuming me fast. "Too late to realize that, though."

"No! No, no, no," Morrie said hurriedly in panic. "No. Don't say that, it's not too late. It's not too late."

I felt someone else kneel beside us. A hand was placed over my own that was covering my wound. That hand sent a surge of warmth into me. "Son," was the last word I heard before I succumbed to the excruciating pain and felt my consciousness drifting away.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Wow. You've read up to this point! That's so cool, dude. So cool of you.

I watched the season 3 finale before finishing this chapter and I wished waited for it before writing this fanfic. If I were to do that, Abiel would grow up with his parents and all. But that would just miss the point of this story, right? It's about a child who has grown to loathe his parents and that same loathing makes him break. So let's just pretend that they survived and Hannibal was back into custody and blah blah blah. That finale felt like a lover had just slammed the door right in front of my face and I have no idea if that lover will return or is gone for good.

Anyway, Abiel's struggle ends here. It was fun with you guys. Many thanks to-naaah, kidding. Of course I would not complete this fic with an even number of chapters that is not a multiple of 10!

Not sure if I should let Abiel live, though. Ha ha ha. Rest assured that there's gonna be a chapter after this. We all need some closure.

Please review, fav or follow!


	19. Chapter 19

Way back in Lithuania, it has always thrilled me when I hunted birds, especially those in flight. There is a certain poetry in shooting a flying bird. Each time I aim the muzzle at it, I make sure its wings are spread out wide and its feathers are fluttering against the wind. I make sure to behold the bird in its full majesty before pulling the trigger and making it fall. Chiyoh used to say I have bad aim when shooting birds mid-flight because they fall onto the ground still struggling for life. She eventually realized it was not the case. I injure them enough to make them fall just so I can see them wounded on the ground with their plumage soaked in blood.

When my father asked me the question about the wounded bird, I knew right away how to answer him. A wounded bird is the metaphor of my being—lost from its flock, fallen and broken. I wounded all those birds to make myself feel less alone. When I looked at them on the ground, I always asked myself if the bird should live or die. Most of the time, I kill them in mercy. I only came to realize now that _mercy_ is not what drove me to end those birds' lives—it was guilt. I was guilty that they existed that way, the same way I am guilty of my own existence.

As the bird dies, I ask it with unspoken words, "Now, what do you see?" I used to wonder what those birds see while they were dying. Does life leave them to the darkness? Or does death lead them to the light? I used to wonder if it is the same for human beings. When I killed those boys, I saw a cloud pass over their eyes and it seemed to me they were lost in nothingness. Looking back now, I only saw my own reflection on their lifeless eyes. Perhaps it signifies that I was doomed to nothingness.

I used to dance as a teenager. I began when the memory of killing those bullies became unbearable. Dancing used to rid my mind of all thought that attempts to consume me. When I was eighteen, the dance company I belonged to performed Tchaikovsky's _Swan Lake_ with the genders of the characters switched. I landed the role of the male White Swan. The prospect of dancing the Dying Swan had an allure on me then. I had hoped that it would make me understand death in all its grace. I had hoped I would feel how it is to lose flight and drift away from the world. However, ballet brings a great degree of glamour to anything it portrays. I had performed the Dying Swan to a deafening sea of applause and congratulations. That performance made me think there could be beauty in death, but I realize now that it is not the case. There is only a gaping void, a null abyss, that comes after life.

I spiraled into nothingness when I succumbed to the pain brought by the gunshots. It was neither dark nor light, it was only empty, and it was very, very cold. It felt like the same kind of cold and emptiness in the halls of Castle Lecter. As I recalled so, I heard the patter of little feet. There was the huffing sound of a child running. It was me, and I was running in the void. It was the little boy with pallid cheeks and shuffled curls whose face looked too melancholic for a child his age. It was the same abandoned boy devoid of warmth. How miserable I felt looking at that child. He can neither weep nor laugh because his being was already too numb to feel anything. As I looked at the child, I understood my godmother—I wanted to crush him. I wanted to free him of his suffering like how I freed those birds, but I was not in the power to do so.

The boy's running slowed into brisk pacing as he turned to an adolescent. Melancholy still prevailed in his visage, but there was also bitterness. I saw the rage that was running cold in his veins. As that boy looked around in the null, his eyes spouted disgust. He has grown to loathe the nothingness of his own existence. There was a low, gurgling sound and it rose to resemble the noise of a shallow brook echoing in the void. The boy bent down and dipped his hands into the nothingness around us. A faint red hue flowed out of his fingertips. I followed with my gaze as it circled around us, and came to realize it was the blood I had washed from my shoes ten years ago. I followed that bit of crimson all the way back to that boy who is now a young man.

The young man was right in front of me, his steel-blue eyes looking directly into mine. "Abiel," he said, "where have you gone off to?"

"Here," I replied.

"I do not see you," he said although he was looking at me.

"I'm right here," and my voice grew faint as I said so.

"I can see nothing." He said. "You are fading into the nothingness."

I was filled with conflicting emotions as I looked at that young man who stood still in front of me. I wanted to tell him that I was not fading into nothingness, but at the same time I also wanted to just fade away into it.

"Where will you go now?" As the young man said so, his voice was suddenly split into two other voices that sounded so familiar.

"Home," I replied. The nothingness felt like home.

"Where is home?" The young man's face contorted as if there was a sudden burst of static on it. There was another static burst and my fathers were standing side by side in front of me in place of that young man. "Where is home, Abiel?" They asked. They were both smiling those smiles that made me feel warm when I first saw them. It was only then that I understood how those smiles were. Their smiles were not just brought by mere fondness; they were asking me for forgiveness and also offering me love.

I have forgotten the last time I wept, but I felt like shedding tears in that cold void. Warmth dripped from my eyes and trickled down my cheeks as I raised my hands to reach out to my parents. I wanted to be with them. I wanted to forgive them and accept their love.

A warm sensation held my hand. It was the same warmth that had wrapped that very hand before I drifted off.

"Abiel?" A voice called.

I opened my eyes, and tears were rolling from them. I blinked at a white ceiling before I turned my head to look at the person holding my hand.

"Oh thank goodness," Will Graham's voice broke as he said so. He was holding my right hand in both of his and he pressed my knuckles to his cheek.

"Dad," I managed to say with a weak smile.

Dad smiled back. "I'm glad you're awake."

With my right hand, I feebly clutched his and replied, "me too."

"Papa's so worried about you, son, we just sat there and cried," he said.

"Papa?" I asked.

"I visited him yesterday." Dad replied. "After more than twenty years."

His words brought me some kind of gladness and I could only smile at him.

"We love you, Abiel," he withdrew a hand to place on my head and caress the locks that were so much like his. "Our thoughts of death have been replaced by those of your life ever since you were born. Losing you would make us more insane that we already are." He chuckled.

I have been watching him fight back tears as he spoke, until he broke into a sob.

"I'm sorry, Abiel. I'm so sorry." He said, tears flowing from his eyes. "I'm sorry for everything. I don't know how we could make it up to you. I hope you can forgive me. I hope you can forgive _us_."

I sighed. "I want to, Dad." I replied. "I used to think I could never forgive you, but I'm exhausted now." I raised a finger to wipe a tear from my father's eye. "I'm so exhausted of being driven by my hatred towards my parents. I'm so exhausted of being broken because I cannot accept my parents. I want to take this chance to try and be happy for a change."

"That makes me so happy then." Dad smiled. He stood up and pressed his lips upon my forehead.

What I felt then was extremely alien to me, but not unwelcome. That was the first time in my twenty-two years of living that I felt I was truly cherished.

I insisted on seeing Papa that day. The doctor was reluctant to let me go, but I was resolute. I wanted to be with both my parents, and that was the only thought I ever had since I woke up. Arriving at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, I pleaded with Dr. Bloom to allow physical contact with Hannibal Lecter for that visit. "Just this once," I told her. "I want to hold my father." She tentatively responded to the affirmative, but she has to personally monitor the visit.

When we entered the room, Hannibal Lecter was clasping his hands behind him. "Abiel," he said, but it sounded more like a sigh of relief.

I smiled and walked up to him. "Papa," was all I could say as I wrapped my arms around him.

"You're alive," he said as he embraced me too, with one hand holding the back of my head.

We stayed like that for a few moments until he withdrew his hand from the back of my head.

Turning, I saw Hannibal Lecter reach out to Will Graham who was smiling at us a few meters away.

The first step Dad took towards us was reluctant, but he immediately rushed to us, and the next thing I knew, the three of us were enveloped in a warm, comforting hug. I sighed happily. There has always been something frozen inside me, and I felt it thaw at that very moment. My entire life up to that point was like the cold, dark, empty and abandoned Castle Lecter. I was so convinced that dismal place was all I could ever call home. That one moment I spent in my fathers' arms, though, felt like I have returned to a place I left when I was too young to remember. I never thought I would come to know that kind of happiness in my life.

"Will, do you remember the first time you brought Abiel here?" Papa asked as he held us tight.

"Yes," Dad replied. "That was the happiest moment I shared with you."

"I never thought I could hold him like this." Papa said as he buried his hand into my hair. "This is the happiest moment _I_ shared with you."

I sighed. To me, that was the only truly happy moment in my twenty-two years of existence.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

My indecisiveness is showing in that I don't know whether I should end it here or not. There are still loose ends to this story, not to mention there is a certain ending that I want to accomplish; a _happily ever after_. I don't want to write a separate story just for that. I'll just mark the story as 'completed' for the time being, but there's going to be a chapter after this, and I promise the mood will be a tad lighter.

About Abiel being a dancer, I have been thinking about it ever since I created his character in my mind. I just did not know how or where I should mention it, so I took his state of wavering between life and death to do so.

I changed the cover to a man who's pose is reminiscent of the Dying Swan. You should watch it if you haven't, especially Maya Plisetskaya's performance of it and Leigh Alderson's too.

My gratitude is yours for reading up to this point. Please leave a review/fav/follow!


	20. Chapter 20

Loathing and bitterness never felt like burden to me. They merely felt like friends whom I have lived with ever since I can remember. I was too contented and too used to having them. Meeting my parents, though, allowed me a glimpse of bliss. It was like a spark—a flicker of warmth in my cold, dark life. It made me realize that those things I have lived with were actually pulling me down and gnawing at me to shatter my very being. As I embraced my parents then, I knew I had to let those things go. I have finally loosened the grip that my own loathing and bitterness had around my life.

The Swan was freed from the curse. Never have I felt so light. I felt like I was soaring. If I was not injured at the time, I would have danced the Swan in flight. My spirit has danced for me though. It leapt, spread its wings and flew for the first time. It flew out of a cage it never realized had trapped him. I was free.

Papa was the one to let go first. He cupped my face in both his hands and looked at me, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears. "I could not have you die without telling you I love you, Abiel."

I smiled and put a hand over his. "I don't want to die without hearing that either."

He smiled and put a hand at the back of my head, gently nudging me to bow so he could kiss my forehead. "I knew you'd still grow up to be like us though you're away." He said, ruffling my hair.

I chuckled. "Hard to kill?"

"I was about to say 'reckless'," Papa smirked as he looked at Dad and then back to me. "But that works too."

"You were about to kill Bedelia, weren't you?" Dad asked as if to chastise me.

"I'm not one to attempt diplomacy." I replied.

Papa chuckled. "I don't know if I should be proud of you, son."

I shrugged. "Perhaps I'd rather you take pride in me for other things."

"Indeed," Papa replied.

"I've talked with your degree program coordinator, Abiel," Dad began. "Who also turned out to be your dissertation adviser. I told her you might not be able to attend classes until Wednesday."

I raised a brow in question. "Dad, how exactly did you manage that?" I asked. "She's always telling me how you and Papa are difficult to contact for study and all."

Dad shrugged. "I told her I'm your father, and she was not surprised at all." He opened his mouth to say something, but clamped it shut and looked down as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. There was something he felt the need to tell me but it seemed reluctance silenced him.

It was Dr. Bloom who spoke for Dad. "Freddie Lounds wrote about you, Abiel," she said from the corner where she has been watching us. "She also mentioned you're roommates with my son." She added with a scowl. "I should have known you were the foreign student Morrie has been staying with."

"Neither did I know he's your son, Dr. Bloom," I replied. "All he wanted for me to call him is 'Morrie'. He would not have it otherwise." Turning to my parents, I asked with a smile, "What did Miss Lounds say about me anyway?"

I saw Dr. Bloom roll her eyes at my question while Dad looked at me as if I was a ghost. I reckoned they reacted that way thinking I have inherited Hannibal Lecter's vanity—which I may indeed have.

It was only Papa who returned my smile and replied. "She spent quite a lot of words on you, likening you with us and talking about your background. You danced ballet in Lithuania." He said, sounding impressed.

I chuckled and nodded. "Tchaikovsky was an inspiration."

"Your adviser also told me you're candidate for Latin honors." Dad said, smiling.

"Yes I am," I replied and returned the smile. "I never left the dean's list."

At this, Papa sighed. "We have twenty-two years to make up for, Will."

Indeed, if twenty-two years can be compressed in an hour, my parents and I sure attempted to do so. We had so much to talk about during that visit. They made me talk about myself—my childhood, my hobbies, my aspirations and more. My fathers were so eager to hear from me. I saw in their eyes how much they wished they were with me all those years.

"I must return to Lithuania within 60 days after graduation." I told them. "I'm just here with a student visa."

A rather morose silence fell upon us as my fathers seemed to let that inevitable fact sink in. Though I was born in the United States and technically a citizen, I was using a different name. I would risk contradicting the law if I were to declare myself as Abiel Graham-Lecter. I will lose my credentials and academic progress as Abiel Urbonas. There was no way for me to stay.

At last, Dad's sigh broke the silence. "I guess we would have to pay Papa regular visits then, Abiel." He cast his _'murder husband'_ a sorrowful smile as he said so.

"We still have months ahead of us, Dad," Papa said. He smiled at Dad and me, and placed a hand on Dad's shoulder. The hand slid down Dad's arm.

"Yeah," Dad replied as he took Papa's hand in his. "Having this chance to be family is already enough happiness."

It was Monday and I was still excused from my classes for another day. I stayed with Dad for the rest of the day. That evening, I contacted Jack Crawford to set an appointment to interview him. He was more civil over the phone than he was when we first met. I fancied it was because I freely introduced myself to him as _Abiel Graham-Lecter_.

After breakfast the next day, Dad and I drove to my sister's grave.

"You could have been close," Dad said as he drove.

I was sitting on the passenger seat, holding a bouquet I got for her. I was never one for romance and I never could have guessed that I would be bringing so many flowers to a girl—let alone a dead one. Nevertheless, she was my sister. Abigail Hobbs is still family to me.

Talking to her tomb was awkward at first. I did not know what to say. I told her I am her brother who was born to our fathers years after her death. When I talked of how happy I was to feel a part of our family, I felt warm again. It brought me comfort 'talking' to her. For years to come, I would still visit my sister's grave, cradling a huge bouquet of flowers for her. They were always the same sort of flowers—the ones that would remind Dad of a decorated corpse Papa had put at a parking lot.

It turned out Morrie was not a good shooter. My godmother survived and recovered quickly. She was not in the brink of death as I was. I never saw her again though, but we would send each other generic greeting cards on holidays.

Morrie and I grew close after that incident. All my life he was the only friend I have ever known, and he said the same to me. Though Dr. Bloom was not fond of me at first, she eventually grew civil; Margot Verger was only happy to see her son with a friend. Even now, Morrie and I are still very close.

After graduation, I flew back to Lithuania. It was only for a brief two weeks as I needed to settle some things. Chiyoh was distant as always when I bade her goodbye for good and returned to the US. I pursued being a forensic psychiatrist. Realizing I had Will Graham's skills though, the FBI took me in as a profiler. It was just as dangerous for me as it was for Dad. If it was not for my husband who is also a psychiatrist, I would have been very much damaged by my job. I found myself raising my own family shortly after I returned to the US. A daughter named Micah and a son named Michel were born to us the same way I was born to my fathers. Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter have lived long enough to see my children in their teens.

 _¿end?_

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
**

Thank you so much for checking out this story and reading through! 'God Is My Father' _technically_ ends here. This really means a lot to me since I've never written a story in years. I hope you enjoyed Abiel's account.

Special thanks to Karl and Jenny who did not mind my private messages and providing me feedback. I can't begin to say how valuable the input you provided were. You guys (and Psych 150) really helped me in writing this. Of course, all my gratitude to Senpai whose notice placed the idea of this fic into my mind. Thank you for noticing me, Senpai!

It has been a pleasure with you all. Please review and/or fav this story!

PS: End? I'm not fond of even numbers even if they are multiples of 10. I'm planning an epilogue. Up to it though?


	21. Epilogue: Musing Vividly

We visited a museum for a school field trip when I was eight. We were strictly told that we "can look but cannot touch". My teacher then proceeded to tell us how pieces of art must be preserved so everyone can cherish them at the peak of their beauty. I was an obedient boy and kept my hands to myself throughout that trip, but I did not have to try so hard not to touch the artworks. As I marvelled at those exhibits, I understood what my teacher meant. Those beautiful creations needed to stay like that and be just that, and they would lose their essence otherwise. I was awestruck by both their splendour and fragility. I understood that such pieces need to be looked after and cared for to prevent them from breaking. Watching my husband sleep peacefully beside me felt just like that museum trip—only more real and infinitely more beautiful.

It was a week before our last semester in college ended when I proposed to him. We were not an item nor have we been going out. I have always harboured a little crush on him though, but I was so afraid to tell him because—well, you would also fear him if you met Abiel. He feels like the embodiment of winter. I was not at all planning to propose to him that night. We were just chilling on a Friday night like we always do with our dogs heaped all around us. As we were taking swigs from our beer bottles, the subject of plans after college came up.

"You're going to turn out like those 'humanitarian pigs' aren't you?" Abiel asked, sipping his beer.

That assumption annoyed me. "Hell no!" I replied. "Please kill me if I turn out like that."

Abiel just chuckled and said, "Only if I'm still around by then."

Even if it was a joke, I did not like hearing such negativity from him. After _that incident_ with his godmother—for which my parents grounded me for a week—Abiel began to grow happier than he used to be. We became closer as friends in that short period of time than we were for three years. "Hey, you're not thinking of suicide are you?" I asked, surveying his reaction as I placed the bottle of beer I held on the table.

"No," he replied, raising a brow. "What I meant is that I cannot stay in the US for long."

"What?!" I was so shocked by this that I yelled aloud and startled our dogs. "But why?"

Abiel sighed and looked at me directly. "My student visa is bound to expire. I would have to leave within 60 days after graduation." He explained.

"I don't understand," I said. "You were born here, right?"

" _Abiel Graham-Lecter_ was born here, Morrie," he said. " _Abiel Urbonas_ wasn't. I would not risk going against the law by declaring myself as Abiel Graham-Lecter just so I can stay. I'd lose all the academic merit I've worked for."

I took my beer from the table and drank. The spoiled brat in me was passionately protesting. Nothing would keep Abiel from breaking if he returns to Lithuania for good, and I sure as hell do not want that to happen. Abiel is the only friend I have ever had. My mothers kept me sheltered for most of my life, and given my family's status, there has always been a gap between me and other people. I did not want to lose him.

"There should be a way," I muttered. "A lawyer would know, I could pro—"

"Verger, has it ever occurred to you that I want to go back to Lithuania?" He cut me off with a scowl. He called me 'Verger', meaning he was losing his patience with me.

"Of course not!" I shouted in my ire. "Damn it, Graham-Lecter, we both know you're not convincing anyone in this room by saying that."

Abiel glared daggers at me. "What is it to you then?" He asked flatly but coldly.

I sighed to calm myself. "With your family in the US, there's no stopping you from breaking if you go back to Lithuania."

Abiel sneered and drained his bottle in one gulp.

We fell silent as we both busied ourselves by petting our dogs. Our conversation became an argument _again_. We argue so much that we might as well be a married couple.

"That's it!" I exclaimed. A lightbulb lit up in my head.

"What's it?" Abiel asked, furrowing his brows at me as he opened another bottle.

"I know just how to make you stay here _legally._ " I replied with a smile as bright as my idea.

"Oh yeah? Tell me." Abiel said as he drank from the newly-opened bottle.

"Marry me!"

As soon as I said that, Abiel blew the beer out of his nose and mouth. I did not know whether to laugh or be annoyed at his reaction.

Tristan and Dawn got wet with beer and scrambled off of our laps to shake themselves dry.

"What the hell, Verger?!" Abiel yelled, slamming his bottle on the table. "You're out of your goddamned mind."

"But it works," I said as Abiel wiped his face with his sleeves. "You marry me, you get a green card and you stay."

"Whatever," he muttered, standing up abruptly to clean the mess he made.

I could only watch him do so.

Abiel was never keen on romance, dating or sex, and seldom displays emotions. I could stay up all night recalling the names of all the people in the university who asked him out but whom he turned down. Yes, there were a lot ever since we were freshmen—men and women, students and faculty. I cannot blame them. There is a certain elegance about Abiel that you just cannot help but awe.

His face is difficult to look away from, even other people would say, with steel-blue eyes, high cheekbones, aquiline nose and grim-set lips. Standing at six feet two inches, he has a desirable height. When his gunshot wounds were still healing, I would help Abiel change his bandages. I always thought he was just a bit skinny, but he actually has a fine physique moulded by gymnastics and ballet. I used to think that if I were a photographer, I would want him for a model. He may indeed be physically attractive, but that was not enough to convince myself that marrying him is a brilliant idea. Above all, Abiel is intelligent and highly intellectual. Knowing his parents, I would not be surprised. Even I depended on Dr. Lecter's studies as a Psychology undergraduate. We argued a lot, that is for sure, but I liked having those arguments with him, especially the ones in which serious ideologies were at stake.

As I watched Abiel clean up the beer that has spilled all over the place, I considered how it will be like to marry him. My parents would not be highly approving of our match, but I usually get my way with them. His parents, of course, would be glad their son can stay. I thought about the nights we would spend just discussing things in bed until one of us would drift off to sleep. I would prefer a night-long discussion over sex. I fantasized our wedding night would be just like the first time Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung met; we would talk for more than thirteen hours straight. He has not yet given me a proper answer to that poor excuse of a proposal, but I began to look forward to a married life with him.

"I'm going to bed now," Abiel said decisively when he was done and began to march to his room.

"Hey, take your shirt off," I called after him. "It's wet. You'll catch a cold."

He obeyed without a word and threw the beer-soaked shirt right into my face before proceeding to his room.

"Lazy ass," I muttered as I threw his shirt into the laundry basket.

I was up early the next day. Last week, our dogs stayed with Abiel and his dad in Virginia for the weekend. It was my turn to take them home that day. I was eating ramen for breakfast when Abiel walked out of his room, lazily scratching at his left ribs where he was shot some months ago.

"Hey," he greeted and stretched. The way he stretches looks like he is about to perform ballet.

"Hey," I greeted back, slurping the noodles.

Abiel frowned at me. "Be thankful I'm not eating breakfast with you, I'd find that rude."

"Whoa, Lecter, that's a real threat." I said smirking sarcastically.

He only clicked his tongue and poured himself coffee. He sat in front of me and sipped from the mug I gave him for his birthday after he wrecked his old one in a fit. "Morrie, about last night," he began.

"I'm serious about it." I said, looking at him squarely. "Marry me."

Abiel gave me a serene smile. "I really appreciate that you're willing to do that for me just so I can stay with my family."

I shrugged. "Who knows, maybe I want to marry you for selfish reasons."

Abiel slightly furrowed his brows and tilted his head to one side. He was apparently confused as to what I meant.

"Ugh, damn it, Abi," I passed a hand over my face to cover a blush. "You're so goddamned dense."

That confused look on his face remained as he watched me finish my ramen. Even when I stood up and prepared to leave, Abiel kept looking at me like that as if he wanted me to elaborate further.

"I'd want your answer on Monday." I said, ushering our dogs out.

Abiel managed to wave at me before I left. I wondered if he would give me an answer come Monday.

When I told my parents about it over dinner that night, Mom gave me almost the same reaction as Abiel.

"Mordred, what were you thinking?" She asked, almost choking on a leek.

I squirmed in my seat. Up until this day, I do not like being called Mordred. It is a constant reminder that, like Mordred in Sir Thomas Malory's Arthurian tales, I should be my father's bane.

"They can divorce after two years when Abiel gets the green card." Ma replied for me, but that was not what I wanted to say.

I must have looked alarmed upon hearing that, because my mothers stared at me in disbelief for a moment until the disbelief melted into a semblance of understanding.

Ma smiled. "Abiel must be as charming as his fathers," she said more to Mom than to me.

Mom sighed. "Morrie, do you have a ring?" She asked me flatly.

I grinned and shook my head. It was as good as an approval.

"We'll shop for a ring tomorrow," Mom said. "If you're going to propose, you're going to do it properly."

I can barely suppress my mirth that entire weekend. When I returned to our apartment that Monday, though, I was too tensed.

I was so nervous that I was spacing out on the couch that morning. I snapped out of it when the door creaked open and Abiel walked into the apartment.

"Hey," he greeted with a smile.

"Um, hey," I greeted awkwardly. "So, uh, how was your weekend?" I asked, gingerly fumbling the ring in my pocket.

"Good," he replied brightly as he bent down to pet Dawn. "We visited my sister's grave yesterday."

"Abigail's?" I asked. Abiel seemed to like visiting the dead girl.

"Yeah," he answered with a chuckle and lifted Dawn into his arms. "I had so much to tell her."

I chuckled nervously. "Yeah? Like what?"

Abiel shrugged nonchalantly. "That I'm graduating next week with Latin honours. That you picked up a new dog last Wednesday." Then he added with a calm smile, "That I'm getting married."

I gasped and chortled. "You did?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I told her I'm marrying Mordred Verger."

I could not believe my ears and gaped at him for a few moments before I burst out laughing. "Oh gods," I said.

Abiel set Dawn on the floor and raised a brow at me.

I could not help myself and swept him into my arms. "Oh gods, I'm the happiest man alive!"

He laughed and returned my embrace. "I don't think I deserve you though." He whispered as he rested his chin on my shoulder.

"Oh shut the hell up, Graham-Lecter!" I exclaimed as I shoved him away. I grabbed his left hand and slipped the ring into his finger. "There you go."

He lifted his hand to look at it and smiled upon realizing what I did. "You know I can just divorce you." He said flatly.

I shrugged. "I don't care. You're staying and that's what matters."

He smiled and placed a chaste kiss on my lips. "Thank you for everything, Morrie."

I felt my face heat up and I knew I was blushing to my ears.

Abiel laughed out loud "You look like a tomato with long roots on top!" He said and tousled my long hair. It is annoying how I am older than him but he is taller.

We got married the week after our graduation day. The wedding ceremony was difficult to push through as Abiel and I kept giggling while we stood there. We agreed that it was the dumbest and brightest idea I have ever had. Though it was no crime at all, our wedding made headline for Tattle Crime. _"Murder Husbands' Son Marries Verger"_ was the exact text. I remember Abiel and me laughing our heads off to sleep the night it was published.

I was twenty-six, and Abiel was twenty-three. Ten years have passed since then, and he did not divorce me. I grinned at the recollection as I laid beside him.

Abiel's eyes fluttered open. "Quit staring at me in my sleep." He groaned. "You're waking me up." He said and shifted to lay on his back.

"Sorry, can't sleep," I replied.

He groaned again and pressed an arm on his forehead. "Should I treat you for insomnia?"

"No," I replied. "I don't have insomnia."

"Well then, go to sleep." He muttered.

I scooted towards him and placed my head on his shoulder.

Abiel sighed, knowing what I wanted, and placed a hand on my head. "Seriously, did I marry a dog?" He said as he stroked my hair.

I yawned. "Just shut up and pet me."

"If it's going to make you sleep then," he muttered and continued to run his hand through my hair. I was beginning to drift off to sleep when he spoke. "If Micah pursues ballet, will you let her?"

I groaned. "Of course," I replied. "I'm doing private practice as a psychiatrist and I juggle it with the Verger business just fine. Our daughter is brilliant, she can do that too."

Abiel fell silent for some moments, but I can hear the gears of my husband's mind whirling as he absently stroked my hair.

"What, don't you trust our Sugar Plum Fairy?" I asked.

He chuckled. "She was mad at me when we were rehearsing this evening."

I smirked. "I bet she'll make an angsty little fairy tomorrow. You make it up to her, okay? We can't have her cracking up the Nutcracker."

Abiel laughed. "Alright, Daddy, fine."

I smiled. "Good night, Pa."

"Good night," he said as he rested his cheek on the top of my head.

It was the night before our daughter's first ballet recital.

Abiel went back to petting me and I fell asleep soon enough.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Hey! Thanks for reading this although Abiel's narration ended last chapter. So glad you did.

Fun Facts:  
-Morrie is 5'11" he cut his hair short a year after they got married because it gets to Abiel's face when they sleep.  
-Morrie is obviously sapiosexual. Abiel is asexual.  
-Micah is seven years old here. Michel is not yet born.  
-They would visit Hannibal at least twice a month. Hannibal would have slips of the tongue and call his granddaughter _Mischa_.  
-Deep inside, Alana has grown fond of Abiel because Morrie acts more mature around him.  
-Margot likes Abiel a lot and does not hide it.

I wrote this epilogue mainly because my ego would not let me finish this story without mentioning my name. Yeah, guess my name.

I hope you liked the entire story, including this. Please tell me what you think and leave a review!


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